


steal my heart; whatever it takes to get you off

by resurrectdead



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Crush, Banter, Blow Jobs, Co-workers, Daddy Kink, Desk Sex, Doggy Style, Dom/sub, Dominant Louis Tomlinson, Feminization, Homophobic Language, I can also promise you references to batman returns, Kink Exploration, M/M, Pining, Rimming, Rough Sex, Secretary Harry Styles, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Frustration, Smut, Workplace, kind of it gives the right vibe, larry stylinson - Freeform, now also with More Chapters, yikes this is just a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-03-07 21:17:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 52,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13443564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectdead/pseuds/resurrectdead
Summary: He’ll have to give it to him, that wasn’t the reaction he’d anticipated. It is, after all, a very specific kink.or: harry gets exactly what he wants





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi I can’t stop writing!!!
> 
> major shoutout to bitch by allie x for being a banger tune (because as per usual, we here have a fic title taken from a song I like)
> 
> also big ups to louischaos (ex larryschaos rip) for forever motivating me and just generally being a cool person I love or something idk lol ew. she proof read this like 5 times so blame her if it sucks ;))

“So... that’s it, really.”

Louis blinks. He’s stunned into silence, which is definitely a first; Harry thinks he might have to just explain it to him all over again but then he notices how he’s white-knuckling his tea mug all of a sudden, shoulders tense. His eyes are focused on Harry’s face and his jaw is set. 

Well. Then he heard him, at least.

“Oh,” comes the reply, so long overdo. Usually a tad more chipper than that, he is. “That’s… cool.”

Harry furrows his brow in his own utter disbelief. “Cool?”

Louis shrugs, easier, but his pupils are still a bit too wide and eyes a bit too starry. “Yeah,” he says, _easily_. But his voice sounds light and breathy like he’s suddenly a bit worked up. “Cool.”

He’ll have to give it to him, that wasn’t the reaction he’d anticipated. It is, after all, a very specific kink. He probably shouldn’t have shared it at all, but Louis had asked him, so kindly, so politely, or more so just casually slipped it while bored out of their minds on their shared lunch break in the office. So who was he to deny him an answer?

Wrecking himself while being able to watch himself being wrecked. 

What a dream.

There would have to be a mirror involved, or another reflective surface, or several; the more angles the better, right? The more exposed the nicer the feeling; maybe even being watched by someone else, he'd added as an afterthought. And this thing _wrecking_ him, it could be a dildo, a big one, maybe one with a suction cup to put on the mirror so he could bounce on it, sit crouched over the mirror and literally look down on himself. 

But honestly, preferably, as he’d also much casually shared, he’d like it more if he had no control over it whatsoever. If he was just bent over and fucked mercilessly while helplessly watching himself being tugged back and forth. Maybe a bit of nibbling, a little scratching, some hair pulling. Marking. Owning. 

He knows it’s very specific, and kind of ridiculously weird at that as well. He _knows_ this, but even so - sadly, yet also luckily - Louis doesn’t seem to think it is at all. 

Of course he fucking doesn’t. 

“Oh!” Harry goes, eyebrows shooting up instead. He nods slowly, gripping his own tea mug. “Good. Uh.” He looks away, suddenly feels his ears burning hot, like the realisation of the situation has hit him far too late and suddenly he’s just _melting_. “Thanks for listening then, I guess.”

Out of the corner of his eye, one corner of Louis’ mouth is tugged up in a half-smirk. “No problem.”

That’s that, then. 

And. Now we wait.

 

 

 

The best thing about the Christmas holiday season is the time off. Seeing family, sleeping in. The proper freedom of not having to get on the tube and go to work. Everyone agrees with this. It’s like an unwritten law. 

Harry doesn’t agree with this. Because during the holiday season, Harry goes back home to Manchester, which means Harry doesn’t get to meet his friends which, sadly, somehow, even though he could have sworn they all collectively hated him at first, have become his co-workers. 

That loud one with the scruff and the shaggy hairdo, in particular; the one that started a conversation with him for the first time as Harry was carrying heavy boxes up the stairs and he’d stood leaning against the doorway, leg crossed over the other with an apple in his hand, asking easily if he was bringing him goodies. 

Teeth biting into the green flesh of the fruit. 

Eyes burning. 

Juices running.

Harry got his first scolding that day because he dropped a box filled with heavy contents.

There was more of that then, afterwards. More of the friendly bits. Introductions like _I’m Louis, by the way_ as they were crouching next to each other picking up tiny bits of polystyrene and making small talk in whispers and Harry was mostly busy studying his heavily tattooed forearms. Then a nice exit with a _well I don’t know about you, Miss Kitty, but I feel so much yummier_ before disappearing back through the doorway. Curtain. Applause. Harry sitting wide-eyed on the concrete floor watching him leave with a fucking Catwoman quote hanging in the air and a fucking frantic hammering in his poor, poor chest. 

Poor, poor Harry. 

Having someone to have lunch with was much appreciated, he’ll admit as much. It even granted Harry being able to sit at what he’d mentally labelled The Cool Table these past weeks at the company (which was just, insane, honestly, considering they wouldn’t budge for any of his please and thank yous prior to that, being the lame new intern and all that, versus all of them being the much more experienced engineers and riggers and what have you. 

Just, basically, much cooler handy-dandy people of the music industry than being the one sat in cream coloured blouses booking their trips and hotels for setting up equipment at festivals, or being treated snarkily down a phone by their numerous customers while tapping a medium-heeled chelsea boot against the hardwood floor and dreaming about a spa day). 

At this point, they’ve even asked him out to the annual Christmas dinner (how in the hell?).

But it’s kind of like, although he’s spent the past weeks getting to know them all, so that although he’s grown to love gossiping with Liam about the people working the floor below, or mindlessly sharing baking tips with that Irish lad Niall who clearly doesn’t even know how to boil an egg, it’s Louis he finds himself drifting back to. Louis he finds himself twirling a strand of hair to as he watches him in his utter glory, laughing or making everyone else laugh, leaning back on his chair’s legs just for the hell of it or putting notes on Zayn Malik’s back, occasionally stretching those tattooed arms above his head as his shirt runs up his toned stomach or a soft moan escapes his pursed lips. 

Harry has kind of memorised all his little quirks like that.

He’s kind of been unable to stop staring since that first day.

Harry should probably stop staring. 

He sits back at his desk. Chair creaking, he tries to ignore how his chest feels full with all these burning hot feelings because, it shouldn’t? It just shouldn’t. Louis is just wearing baggy joggers today like the customary morals of the office dress code don't even exist, and of course he can absolutely do so if he wishes because it’s obviously none of Harry’s business. 

The looks he sends him sometimes is his business, though. The ones he slips when he walks past with a stack of papers, or the way he’ll smile at the person he’s talking to but divert his eyes at Harry, make it a grin. Make it devilish, make it filthy. 

That’s his business.

Because a good half of the times it happens, Harry realises he’s already the one looking up at Louis in exactly the same intent way.

This is, of course, he actively tells himself, because they still haven’t talked about. That. Yeah, _that_ , the little conversation that slipped over their lunchboxes just the day before. They’ve barely talked at all, really, not since Harry dropped the bomb, and maybe he should be sad about that but he isn’t, not really. It means Louis is affected. 

And that’s a good thing. It’s better than nothing. It means he feels something about the statements made, whatever it is he feels. But since he’s still so willingly grinning at him...

Harry twirls a pencil between his fingers, can’t concentrate, has been doodling variations of flowers and hearts on his Hello Kitty post-it notes for the past two hours as clients have called his phone one after the other to which he’s happily hummed responses before forwarding their calls not having a clue what was just said. He truly shouldn’t be here. He’s doing a bad job. He’s acting too love drunk to be sensible. 

That’s as complicated as his job gets, though. Being the secretary boy. Being the cute assistant, to his best ability because, like, he doesn’t have a nice ass like Louis or anything. 

Oh, yeah! He should probably stop staring!

He’s surprised to see a caller ID he actually recognises flash up on his display then, and doing said job of answering the phone suddenly becomes that much less tedious. Maybe he can even last another day. 

He feigns boredom as he lifts the cell to his ear. ”Yes?”

”Lunch, Harold,” Irish lad Niall croaks out around an obvious mouthful of something foodlike on the other end. He hears the noise of a crowded cafeteria in the background. ”You’re late. Again.”

”Drats,” Harry deadpans, glancing at the clock. 

Then he glances at Louis’ perfect ass and considers his options. 

”It’s kind of the third time this week.” You could _touch_ the judgement. ”Out of three possible.”

”Just been… absolutely _swarmed_ at work,” Harry lies, picking at his black nail varnish. ”Lots to do. So many people to politely deny discounts, so little time.”

”And I’m counting yesterday when you didn’t even show up.”

Harry vaguely remembers being invited to sit outside of the cafeteria by a boy he’s hardcore crushing on and somehow slipping into conversation about sexual kinks and preferences. ”Choices, Niall.”

”I’m expecting you in five, or else I’m sending a search patrol,” Niall continues, matter-of-factly. He stalls. ”With _dogs_.”

You can’t bring things that may cause allergic reactions into a work building. Niall’s hypothetical universe in which Harry doesn’t get off his chair right this instance is miserably flawed. He’s just unprofessional like that. 

So is Louis, in joggers and a tie. Harry wants that tie tied tight around his wrists, around his throat, maybe. Wants him to pull his head back by his hair and force him to watch as he thrusts into him relentlessly. 

Fuck it. Fuck it all so fucking much. 

”You’re staring at _him_ again, aren’t you?” Liam asks through the phone then, probably leaning it between both their shoulders, because that’s just a thing they do to make Harry’s life more of a living hell than it already is. Liam’s got good shoulders for that. Maybe he gyms with Louis. Maybe he’s already seen him naked. Oh no, there he goes imagining it. ”I can tell from your breathing.”

”’S not good for you, man,” Niall adds through his chomps as Harry wishes to ascend to another plane of existence. ”Should talk to him or drop it. You’re clearly soulmates and all.”

”Like, even if he’s a punk piece of crap,” Liam adds, in clear reminiscence to the many times he’s found a _Kick Me_ note attached to the back of his shirt, or gotten sprayed in the crotch with a water gun for absolutely no reason. ”And, maybe not even a _little_ into men... You’ll have to consider that, I mean I wouldn’t want him.”

”Would you want any man, though?”

”Yes,” Liam answers a little too quickly.

Brief silence. 

”Sure, right. Uh. Just. Harry? Harry, are you there?”

”Unfortunately.”

”Harold, darling,” Niall drawls, in some sort of old lady voice, ”you’re soulmates. Best friends in a past life, all that good stuff, just. Stop pining. Please, god, it hurts me. It hurts the both of us.”

This is starting to sound a bit too much like his parents when he was debating dropping out of university.

Harry looks up one last time and Louis’ disappeared out of the room, probably left for lunch as well, like normal people do on their lunch breaks. It’s too bad Harry isn’t normal. 

Hasn’t been since he dropped a box of heavy contents from imagining a rugged, handsome man with scruff and tattoos and gorgeously soft lips eating him out. 

”Niall, what does a nosey pepper do?”

Niall loudly puts his fork down and he can just _hear_ the look Liam’s giving him from where he’s sat eavesdropping with his ridiculous protein shake. 

”What, Harry?”

”Gets jalapeño business.” Curtain, applause. Or, two sets of groans in pure agony. 

Harry grins. 

”See you in a bit, boys,” he chirps before he hangs up. 

 

 

 

There is a mistletoe in the entrance to the office.

Harry has been staring at it for the past five minutes he’s been sitting there, waited for someone else to notice it, or just waited for it to catch on fire or something, what with the intensity of his eyes on it. 

His chest feels tight as his eyes dart to each person passing the doorstep, but no one looks up. No one passes together either, so. 

Harry still keeps frantically tapping his pencil against the desk, though. Because if someone notices it, if someone passes it with, say, a Louis Tomlinson, they might just have to kiss him. 

_Harry_ has already _noticed it_ …

No. Bad thoughts. Bad Harry. 

He gets a phone call to distract him, needs to book one of the engineers a hotel and a train ticket for setting up a sound system. It’s once he’s filed in all the usual bits and bobs that Liam comes to sit at the edge of his desk. 

Ah, back to depression.

Liam puts his hands in his lap, feet dangling casually. ”Notice anything?” he asks.

Harry squints his eyes at his face. He literally saw him like fifteen minutes ago at lunch. Nothing much can have possibly changed.

”Did you get a haircut?” he asks through a smile.

Liam has that face on when he’s pursing his lips but still portrays being totally unbothered, eyebrows raised in nonchalance. He nods towards the doorway. ”I decorated.”

Harry slams his fists down on the table. ”Why did you-!” Then he stops, covers his mouth. ” _Why did you do that?_ ” he wheezes, eyes wide.

Liam snickers when he shrugs. ”Thought you needed a little push, mate. It’s painful for us seeing you pine like you do.”

Harry’s not that obvious, he wants to defend. Liam and Niall are the ones being obvious, pointing it out and all, setting things up. Harry can keep these thoughts inside, like, isn’t it amazing how many things can just _not exist_ if we choose not to show or share them out loud? Schrödinger’s cat, but it’s about whether you want the dick or not. 

Louis would enjoy a study like that. It could make him have a laugh. 

And Harry shall never ever share that thought.

He covers his face with his hands, instead. Cowers in the makeshift darkness. ”Kill me now.”

”Hey, man-”

”Euthanize me. Throw me off a cliff, I’m ready.”

”Harry,” Liam tries again, and Harry peeks out from behind his fingers. Liam nods towards the door and Harry catches a mess of shaggy brown hair and a perfect ass leaving over the doorstep. 

Liam looks back at Harry with huge, gleeful eyes. Like how your friend looks at you when your crush passes you in the school hallway.

How old are they, again? Maybe Harry’s solid 21 got twisted around somewhere along the line of losing his mind over a boy.

”You will not,” he warns, sinking his fingers into the seat of his chair.

”I’ll roll you off in your chair then, if you want,” Liam retorts, getting off the desk. He’s too big and muscular to disagree with. Goddamnit. ”Don’t you need a toilet break, babe?”

”I just went.”

”Well.” Liam puts his arms up as if ready to scoot him off towards what will most likely be his death. ”Why don’t you go grab me some coffee?”

Harry should hit the gym more.

He gets up, snakes his way around Liam’s bulky arms and suddenly he’s on his way out of the room. Maybe Louis took a trip upstairs. Outside, maybe, maybe moved his last break forward; perhaps he’ll have a smoke, possibly two. He could have, plausibly, went home, and Harry won’t have to-

He rounds the corner to an empty corridor.

He makes it to the deserted break room, pours Liam a cup of coffee, alone. Saunters back to his desk like a dog with his tail between his legs.

He falls defeated back into his chair. 

”Oh,” Liam hisses like Harry actually physically wounded. He sips his coffee. ”That sucked.”

”Yes, Liam,” Harry says, exasperated, ”that sucked. Leave me to my humiliation.”

Liam is so cute when he feels bad. He looks like an actual puppy. ”You know we’re just trying to help, yeah? Need to get the ball rolling and all.”

”I know, it’s nice,” he admits, albeit whiny. ”But you’re just such… _parents_.” 

Harry wants to share so badly how he has in fact spoke with Louis, quite a bit actually. Whether it was their private, quiet banter by the coffee machine or walking out together, all the silent gestures like how Louis will mess with everyone but Harry and rather acts protective of him, wants to make him laugh or impress; he wants to share so badly how he’s currently just on a minor Louis hiatus due to waiting for him to let him know whatever it is he feels so strongly about Harry’s thing for mirrors and wrecking and the fact Harry is gay, gay, hopelessly gay. 

But it would most likely end in catastrophe. Maybe Liam would go and ask him his opinion personally. Send it in for the newspaper for everyone to see how Harry has the hots for him like a dog in heat.

Harry would rather avoid such probabilities. 

”Worse, actually,” he continues, frowning. ”My sister is the one that always wants the details.”

”Can’t relate,” Liam shrugs. ”Usually left me to do my thing. Huh. Maybe this is why I’m so extra with you, then.”

”Because you never had it? Like… like daddy issues?”

Liam looks affronted. ”Well you’d know, wouldn’t you? Well, having taken psychology, I mean.” Wink. ”No other reason.”

Harry only went to like three psychology lectures. He sighs as he props his chin in his hands. ”Like daddy issues,” he decides, actively not thinking about himself in a pink choker and pigtails.

He hears Louis before he sees him. Or more so, hears the girl he’s stepped under the mistletoe with.

God knows Harry would be making the same high-pitched squealing noises if it happened to him.

Liam turns to look too, at Louis with a cup of tea and a brunette wrapped around him. It’s not a good look for him. Even a man-purse would be hotter.

”You have to kiss now,” the girl’s friend hoots from her table, bringing even more eyes on them where they’re stood, this bird practically leaning her whole weight into Louis and Louis’, just.

Louis is just looking at Harry.

And Harry’s heart bloody stops.

Louis blinks, looks back down at the girl. Puts his most charming smile on. ”Sorry, love,” he murmurs sweetly, shifting her balance back and gently prying her hands off him. ”Came down with something this morning. Let’s not ruin Christmas and make you sick too, should we now?”

Whoever’s watching the scene emits disappointed noises. Liam and Harry just silently stare.

”That’s alright, Lou. Next time!” she chirps and bounces out of the room.

Louis’ smile is just as triumphant as he makes his way over to sit with the rest of the engineers, gets a pat on the back and some approving whispers.

Harry’s heart is probably still not beating like it should when Liam turns comically slowly to him. ”Did you-”

”Yes,” he states. ”Yes, I saw that.”

”Fuck.” Liam stares off into the distance. ”I need to tell Niall about this.”

He gets off the desk, coffee in hand, and is across the room in a second flat.

”Tell him what?” Harry yells after him.

Liam puts his finger to his lips in a silent hush, then he leaves. 

Harry puts his head in his arms and fights the urge to groan. Is it really too much to ask for some good old humane euthanization?

 

 

 

Harry can’t remember the code to his locker when Louis walks in behind him. 

Kind of can’t breathe either, but he’s not really fussed, if he’s honest; it’s not like that’s a vital thing for survival in moments like these. Just needs to get his coat to not look a fool, think of something to say that won’t sound too much like _so can we like hook up just once or something?_ then go home, eat, wank, specifically not think about Louis Tomlinson, and go to sleep. 

Louis both successfully opens his locker and clears his throat before Harry does neither that nor has a single coherent thought. ”Exhibitionism, is it?”

Harry stops dead in his tracks. ”Uh. Bless you?”

”Nah, ehm. The kink thing.” He turns to Harry and Harry, embarrassingly, is already looking at him. ”It’s that you wanna be watched, and that?” He tilts his head. ”Or maybe you just like looking at yourself, eh?”

Harry sputters. He’s going a bit red. This is a very strange conversation to be having. ”I, uh… didn’t really consider _why-_ ”

”Or it’s the no-control thing,” he very bravely continues, smirking casually, continuously stomping Harry further down into dirt because he knows, definitely _knows_ what he’s doing to him. ”And you wanna watch it. Look up in the mirror, see yourself back-bound or what have you. See the way they-” 

He stops. Pops his lips. 

”- _very gently take care of you._ ”

”Louis,” Harry warns but it’s not threatening at all, mostly just breathy and oh god why is he so turned on right now? 

Louis just arches an eyebrow. ”Me?”

”I’d appreciate you not doing this to me right now.”

”What am I doing?” he asks, but his eyes drift down. Linger. He looks up at Harry again from under his eyelashes. ”We’re just talking, aren’t we?”

They’re just talking, and Harry’s about to fucking combust. 

Louis turns back to his locker. He gets his jacket, denim in motherloving winter, then shuts the door. ”I never told you, I realised,” he says without sparing him another glance as he twists the number wheels to lock it. ”Don’t think you really asked me either, which is just proper rude. My kink, if I ever had one, is dominating. Guys, preferably, because I’m kind of also very gay, which I guess makes two of us unless you want a dominatrix to peg you or whatnot. I’d pass no judgement.” The door slams closed. ”Welp. See you tomorrow then.”

Louis leaves the locker room. 

Harry has to sit down for a while. 

He also has to add another wank session into his night schedule then, plus a steaming shower when another one slips in. He still feels hot and throbbing as he tosses himself to sleep that night, distinctly keeping his mind clear of exactly all thoughts and things, distinctly not thinking about anybody or anything. 

Obviously. 

 

 

 

Louis is walking around the office with a Santa hat and Harry has had it up to the ceiling.

He’s not even keeping up with work anymore, totally dissociated, too much chatter and papers flying, whether in note or plane form, important or crumpled. It’s the last day before the Christmas holidays and Harry is livid, truly having an inner crisis much more important than whatever’s going on in the office at the moment. 

This is, to the surprise of nobody, because he hasn’t talked to Louis. Hasn’t had the courage or the perfect opportunity, hasn’t known what to _say_ or what to _make of the situation_ and then Louis comes dressed like _that_... 

It’s like he’s making him miserable on purpose. Dressed to depress. 

It seemed bad enough that one time Harry had to jerk off to the memory of him licking his fingers after having some chips (then moaning about how he _craves it, Harry_ with his pretty eyelashes fluttering); he’s not going to sink as low as doing it to the mental image of him in nothing but that red bloody hat, shoving Harry into a facefull of harsh snow with his dick slid between his asscheeks. 

This is the kind of stuff that’s sure to keep him up at night, though. That’s the high end of low. 

He stupidly wishes he could just go up to him right now, wrap himself around him from behind with his chin on his shoulder, whisper in his ear how naughty he’s been. See him hold his breath and grit his teeth with every sly comment. Grab his crotch under the lunch table. Come to work with a buttplug in. 

It’s not gonna happen.

Why isn’t it, though? What’s stopping him?

He watches Louis across the office as he shoots Harry a look, then pulls a string of pink gum from those shiny, sinful lips. He presses it to the backrest of Zayn's chair before he puts his arms on his back and struts off, that little white ball on his hat bobbing along to his steps in front of his eyes with mock innocence. 

He whistles along to a song in his head and the way his cheeks hollow makes Harry cross his legs, mind screaming about beard burns for one reason or another. 

Louis shoots him another glance and Harry’s absolutely done for. 

He has his consent now, is the thing. Whatever Louis’ reasoning was for telling Harry that his own sexual preferences magically match up with Harry’s own fantasies, it sounded very much consensual. Very suggestive. Very in-your-face and also quite maybe-we-should-do-something-about-it. 

But also, guarded. Self respectful. Like, I’m going to give you this idea, and it’s a great one, one of me greatest, if I’m honest... but I won’t do anything to pursue it. Just sit back and watch you squirm with the knowledge of what could have been; squirm with the knowledge I feel the same.

So. Who’s gonna break first? Harry doesn’t want to seem like a slut.

But, he is one. 

And this has kind of been the problem all along, hasn’t it?

He actually startles when Louis bloody Tomlinson is suddenly in front of his desk, because somehow he keeps getting so lost in the thoughts of him he forgets he’s not in fact just a figment of his darkest imagination. ”Need you to book me a a hotel and train tickets, darling.”

He’s leaning his hands on the desk, leg probably crossed over the other all casual, all smug like he is. Harry could be sitting there in a too-far-down-unbuttoned sheer, ruffled white shirt and a shiny black PVC pencil skirt (only one of those is in fact true) with the way he’s ogling him, invading his space. 

Not that he’s complaining. Sometimes he’s wished a bit too hard for Louis to be his boss, with the own, personal office that comes with; little plants in pots, folders in the colour of the rainbow, a desk to be bent over. 

A closed door would be a luxury these days. 

”What for,” Harry asks, eyebrow arched, leaning down across the desk on his elbows, ”darling?”

Louis bites his lip while he grins, that absolute wanker, and looks off like he thinks he’s cool (he is, he so is; Harry absolutely despises him). ”Concert,” he explains, hands him the flyer, and Harry suddenly recalls how he is in fact an engineer and might just need to go engineer stuff once in a while. Those sad, sad trips when he’s gone for just a bit longer than preferable. ”Last one of the year. Me and three of the boys going up north to settle some equipment shit and that.”

Harry hums with faux impression. That’s the best he can do. Louis smells really nice today. 

He clicks the usual tabs open, taps in the information on his laptop when he realises the concert is in Manchester. He holds the flyer up. ”This is Manchester.”

Louis furrows his brow. ”New at five: Harry can read.”

”No, just. I’m like going there.” He waves it off. ”Family. Holiday. Christmas? It’s like a tradition, if you’ve heard of it?”

Louis stays put, continues smirking. He nods slowly, as if in realisation. ”Familiar.”

Harry just like, shrugs. He’s totally cool. He keeps typing. 

”Has any guy ever done you like that before?”

Harry slips on like three keys at the same time. ” _What?_ ” he squawks. Finds that it’s suddenly hard to get the words out. 

”Should I rephrase?” Louis sneers, leans in close to him. His voice is a hushed rumble as he looks down on Harry. ”Just asking if you’re experienced, is all; if anyone’s dominated you like you want before. No need to be so uptight, love.”

Harry stares at his lips while he talks. He thinks about Ben, the admittedly very hot professor at his university in his late 30’s that started acting particularly flirty and protective of him, before finally admitting his feelings and things kind of just took off. Harry loved the attention, loved the secrecy and being the teacher's pet for a fair payback of okay grades in economics. And just around the time Harry started feeling the whole romantic feelings ordeal back and was on the verge of suggesting desk-sex and maybe a date, he quit.

He never saw him again, their last interaction being Ben squeezing his ass before slipping past him on the way out, Harry giving him an over-the-shoulder smirk in response and it all felt like a promise of, _soon_. The desk-sex dreams were unfulfilled, but never forgotten. 

There was also, of course, his ex boyfriend Zack who seemed to take a particular liking to Harry’s flexibility and love for thigh-highs. But no matter how many times Harry bent over the kitchen bar to reach for something, Zack’s oversized T-shirt riding up the curve of his ass and a little frustrated huff coming from his lips, he always got carried off to the bed or the sofa. No matter how many times he did something stupid like hide the TV remote and suggested a punishment with his finger in his mouth, Zack just pulled him into his arms and said it was fine. 

It was always mutually powered, too; awkward laughs and all. They surprisingly lasted for a few months into the beginning of the year. 

”Sure,” he breathes, too distracted following the outline of Louis’ adam’s apple as it bobs.

He doesn’t realise they’ve both leaned in closer, inches away, until Louis’ pulling back. He stands up straight as the warm bubble formed around them bursts with a pop.

”Sick,” he concludes, then taps the flyer lying on the desk. ”Make sure they’ve got breckie in the morning. Need my protein before I’m off.”

What.

”What,” Harry utters, ears hot from his sudden blushing. He pushes his knees together under the desk. 

”Breakfast,” Louis explains slowly, ”in the morning. Work, Harry. Focus. Don’t get off until another two hours you know.”

_Get off._ Harry would like to get _him_ off. 

He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and clears his throat. ”Oh. Yeah. Right.” He continues typing, trying to shake it off, because he should focus. He should. 

Doesn’t make the warmth pooling in the pit of his tummy doesn’t go away, though.

”Well, here’s my phone number, anyway,” Louis goes on, grabs one of Harry’s Hello Kitty notes and scribbles a few digits next to the letter L. He puts the pencil down and gives him a nod. ”If they need a contact. Or for when you need the number to my room.”

Harry takes the note and is about to ask if he doesn’t mean the other way around, like after all Louis is the one who’s going to be staying in there, surely he’ll need to know where to go? 

Then he realises. Then his heart lodges up his throat in shock. 

Louis must see how he goes all wide-eyed because he grins and leaves and holy cow Harry was just invited to come see Louis at his hotel room and he nearly didn’t catch any of it. 

He has to just, sit for a bit, and force himself not to text Niall or Liam in caps about it. Niall is a nosey pepper. He’ll figure it out eventually. 

He takes a moment and decides he can have his break once he sorts this, and he somehow manages to find Louis his short notice hotel rooms as well as train tickets. He prints them and snaps a picture on his phone, attaches it in a text to a mysterious L.

_”Come get them at my desk x”_ he types before he can compose himself. 

The reply takes only about a minute. 

_”Sick !!”_  
_”Also dont text me yet cus i’m rlly good at slippin into sexting”_  
_”And unless you wanna hear abt how good you look in that little secretary look of yours today ..”_  
_”... x (:”_

He slowly puts his phone down and stares into the wall in front of him. Great. Fantastic! 

Little Harry was just doing his job for once, and now he has to focus on _don’t get hard, don’t get hard_ with that frequent buzzing of the texts a slightly too strong reminder of a certain little thing he keeps at home that’s maybe not in fact so little and also, Louis wants him badly. He wants him so bad he even asked if he’s done the kink thing before, made sure he’s really fine with it. Made sure he knows what to expect and will be okay because he wants to do that, he wants to try it with Harry, because he wants Harry badly. 

And good God does Harry want him too. 

He ends up getting out the office to have a nice, sobering glass of cold water, kind of has to force himself not to dump it all over himself because, wow. There’s just a lot happening inside of him at once. He’s kind of burning up. 

But, as long as the heat stays spread equally throughout his body, and not collected in one place like his cheeks or, say, somewhere else...

He’ll be fine.

Everything is fine.

When he rounds the doorway to the office, he only has time to register an obnoxiously red hat for about a millisecond before he bumps right into him.

Knock on wood and all that. Everything is suddenly significantly less fine. 

”Shit!” Louis exclaims, miraculously not spilling a single drop out of the tea cup held out at arm’s length from his torso. 

Oh, that wonderful, glorious torso, which Harry is currently a tad bit too close to to be considered safe. 

”Oops,” Harry exclaims right back because, apparently. ”Sorry, that was all me.”

It was actually all _Louis_ for getting him all hot and bothered to begin with, but can he never admit that? Nope. Life has a habit of punching you in the face like that.

”That’s alright, love, no worries,” Louis soothes, takes a step around him to enter the corridor next to him as well. He’s still close, though, and only now does Harry realise he’s not the only one staring.

Louis’ eyes can show so many emotions, sometimes Harry thinks he must be making half of them up. Right now though, they’re blue, blue, blue, looking so intently into his that Harry’s just _drowning_.

They flicker up for a beat, go back to Harry’s a little softer, smiling. He points upwards with a finger of his free hand. ”Mistletoe.”

Harry’s perception of the world is turning into pink jello. ”Huh?”

Louis grins. ”Mistletoe,” he repeats. Points. ”Right there.”

”Oh.” Harry glances up, then back at Louis. As if he didn’t know. As if it isn’t the only thing ever running through his mind. ”Yeah.”

(Too close, too close, god oh god Harry’s gonna die if something doesn’t happen soon.)

Louis smirks, takes another step out of view from the office. His looks down at Harry’s lips with half-lidded eyes. ”Did you know,” he starts, voice husky (and arrestingly sexy, fuck fuck fuck), ”a mistletoe can be deadly if you eat it.”

And there goes all of Harry’s nerve ending suffering an electric shortage. ”Oh?”

”But,” he continues, still quoting. Like the first time they spoke, still quoting fucking Catwoman in Batman Returns, of all things, and there goes his hand on Harry’s waist, his mouth so close he feels his warmth. There goes Harry’s eyes fluttering shut and all breath leaving his lungs. ”A kiss can be even deadlier, if you mean it.”

There’s a pause, one which only makes Harry really hear how his heart is beating like a bloody steel hammer in his chest. But then he feels Louis’ tongue. 

No lips; no kiss. 

Just his tongue, licking a stripe over Harry’s parted, waiting lips, from the bottom to the top one. Flicking at the end like a signature. Harry just draws an embarrassing, stuttering breath, his whole body alight.

Catwoman, ladies and gentlemen. Harry just got played like Batman, and still it’s got his cock throbbing in his pants for attention.

He hears Louis steps back, _feels_ it with the warm embrace leaving him, and Harry blinks his eyes open. He can’t help but lick his lips. Tries to taste him. 

He almost got to taste him.

Louis smirks mischievously. ”It’s a Christmas movie,” he states, or rather defends? Harry can’t be sure. Harry can’t think.

Then he’s off.

Harry falls back against the wall, watches him go. He disappears into the break room and Harry smears his hands over his face. Fuck. What the fuck.

When Louis returns, tea cup discarded, and he walks towards Harry to step back into the office, he looks over at him with a questioning raised eyebrow, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. Like he’s surprised he’s still there. Still waiting for more. 

Harry scowls at him. ”Fuck you,” he sputters, grabs his collar and presses his lips to Louis’.

Louis grabs the back of his elbow in momentary surprise, then both his hands slide to the dip of his back, pulls him in. Harry still clings on to his collar for dear life, feels that white fluff of his Santa hat totally mess up his hairdo, Louis’ fingers wrinkling his neatly flat-ironed shirt but it is, truthfully, not like he can give a shit at the moment. 

Louis kisses him back deeply, none of the awkwardness of a first kiss; it’s like they just slot together and god is it hot, goddamn is Louis good at this. The warmth and the softness, his decisive grip, but it’s when Harry feels the roughness of his stubble and his knee brush the inside of his thigh that he can’t help but let a tiny whine escape between them, knees buckling ever so slightly. 

He wants to be done right there against that wall. 

Louis steps away then, chuckles so that Harry can’t help but blush. ”I forgot you’re into that,” he husks, shaking his head. ”I was gonna ask if you really want to do this right here when anyone can walk out, I mean,” he clarifies, ”but you totally would.”

”God yes,” Harry breathes, is about to come crashing back in but Louis puts his hands up to stop him.

”Save it,” he decides. ”We’ve got time. Remember the hotel thing, yeah? The alone thing?”

Harry pouts, lips still tingly and hot, but Louis pats his cheek.

”Not the season to mope,” he coos. ”Be naughty and Santa will have to give a good spanking.” He stops, eyes big, so full of something. Then it’s gone and he smirks at him, walks back into the office after one last look thrown over his shoulder, at Harry flustered and deflated against the wall just as he left him, just as he made him out to be. 

And. That was that.

They get two weeks off work during the holidays. This is far too much time to spend being horny.

 

 

 

_”So what’s the room number?”_

Harry walks up to the hotel, far too nerve-wrecked from having tried to remember how to properly park in reverse in a crowded winter wonderland car park as well as having driven his mum’s car a solid 30 miles to be even slightly nervous about the life choices he’s currently making. 

He’s honestly not sure what to expect. Maybe they’ll just watch a movie then awkwardly hug and he’ll go home, like how all of Harry’s dates went before he turned 16. No under-the-shirt action, not even any of the over-the-shirt kind. Maybe he’ll say something stupid and have to go home before the movie. Maybe there is no movie. Maybe there is no Louis. 

Okay, so maybe he’s just a little bit nervous. 

He draws his peacoat tighter around himself, huffs against the cold breeze. His phone vibrates in his hand just as he walks through the large entrance. 

_”Couldav given me a heads up luv”_

Not what he asked for, but. What did he honestly expect from this guy?

He sits down in the reception’s sofa, warms his fingers with his breath. Louis doesn’t write anything else as Harry sits and spins his phone on the table, tries to will an answer out of it by just staring at it. Maybe if he furrows his brow a little more. Telekinesis. The spoon isn’t real, or whatever. Matrix stuff. 

But when a few minutes have passed and Harry feels just about as defeated as he’s still embarrassingly needy for Louis (and still embarrassingly just sat glaring at his phone like a teen girl stood up on her date), the walking wet dream actually enters through the doors.

Louis smirks so mischievously when he spots him. He’s wearing that denim jacket again and his hair is sprinkled with powdery snowflakes, like glitter. It’s a good look. 

”Impatient, were we?” he teases, shrugging snow off his shoulders.

With a dozen scenarios and only one slightly legitimate dialogue planned in his head, Harry’s suddenly thrown off track. ”Were you texting and driving?”

”Course not,” Louis replies light-heartedly, drenched in sarcasm. ”My Siri just speaks Yorkshire, fluent actually, don’t know who you take me for.”

Then Liam bloody Payne walks through the doors.

Harry’s hopes and dreams get crushed like glass. It’s like, he sees it, there, on the floor, like he’ll be stepping on the pieces when he’s lead off to wherever which won’t be alone with sexy, sexy, cold but rugged I-just-put-in-a-sound-system Louis. Someone help him please. 

”Harold!” Liam exclaims, eyes bulging out of his head. Two of the other engineers from their building step in behind him. ”What are you doing here?”

Harry wants to ask him the same thing, but realises he did book more than one room. Two, in fact, with four complimentary train tickets. So.

He gestures vaguely in the direction of Louis.

Liam lowers his eyebrows at Louis in quite the judgemental look. ”This why you were in such a hurry to get back?”

”Nah, Emmerdale just starts soon.” Louis smirks and sinks down in the sofa next to Harry. ”Wouldn’t wanna miss it.”

The sarcasm flies right over Liam’s head. ”Oh.” He turns back to Harry. He’s still comically confused. ”And you knew about this?”

Harry looks to Louis. The jacket’s come off completely, and he’s wearing baggy grey joggers and a black Adidas top and he looks absolutely fucking arrestingly stunning.

”Sure,” he breathes. ”Love Emmerdale.”

The two engineers excuse themselves and make their way to the elevators. Liam still stands with his furrowed brow. 

”You coming up with us?” he asks, motioning with his arms towards where they leave off to. 

”We share room, Liam and I,” Louis points out, totally casual but _suddenly_. A hand on Harry’s thigh. Concealed by the table, he must look absolutely fucking insane the way he suddenly flinches and draws a sharp breath, fights every urge not to look down at how his tattooed fingers curl around him. ”So you’d be joining _both of us_.”

This isn’t leading to a threesome. It isn’t. Liam’s too clueless.

Louis is trying to make him cover up for him.

”Right. _Right_ , so uh, Liam…” Harry thinks. And he thinks, and he thinks. He has to wet his lips nervously to not let out any sort of embarrassing noise when Louis’ hand suddenly starts sliding higher, fingers curling around the inner seam. ”I’m actually here because me and Louis, we have something to like, discuss. So if you could uh, leave us for like-” Inner, upper thigh. Brushing his crotch. Fuck, fuck, fuck. ”Like, two hours?”

”Two hours?” Liam pouts. ”I just got in.”

”Right. Kay, well.” Harry shifts, puts a hand on top of Louis’ wrist. Please stop. Please don’t ever stop. ”One and a half? I’ll make it up to you, swear. Somehow. Anything you want.”

Liam purses his lips but nods, contemplative. He points a meaning finger at Harry. ”And we’re going to talk later.”

Louis squeezes his thigh once and Harry’s voice nearly breaks. ”Course.”

Liam follows him with his narrowed eyes for as long as he can as he leaves through the front doors again. Harry can almost breathe. 

When the doors close behind him, Louis pats his thigh and immediately gets up. ”Should use you to get out all me sticky situations,” he says, picks up his jacket and rounds the table. ”I’ll remember that for work for sure. Coming?”

Harry can certainly not breathe.

He follows behind Louis to the elevators, tries to ignore the weight straining against his zipper. Still in public. Not a good idea. Louis looks up from under his fringe and smirks as he steps aside to let Harry on.

”I hate you so much,” Harry mutters when he steps foot in the elevators and Louis presses the button to his floor. ”Hi, by the bloody way.”

”Hi”, Louis husks back, then the doors close. ”Too much clothing.”

Then his hands are on him, unbuttoning the peacoat with those nimble fingers, slides it off his shoulders. Harry barely has time to think because Louis is bunching it in his arms, maybe with a plan in mind because then he presses against him. 

Harry stumbles back in shock until his back hits the wall. He gasps when Louis’ lips stop an inch from his, pressed against him with only the coat working as a valiant barrier, half-lidded eyes boring into him. 

Then, he slides his beanie off his hair, and just when Harry thinks he’s going to reach in and kiss him - the doors ping open. 

Louis puts the hat in a pile with his coat and spins around. He exits the elevators.

"Just down the hall", he announces rather cheerfully.

Harry, somehow still alive, follows bravely. 

”I believe I was promised if I texted you, I’d get your room number,” he drawls from behind him, trying to catch up. Louis’ quick for being so like, compact.

Louis looks over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. ”And you’d have been fine with just that information?” Slight eye roll looking back ahead. ”If you’re calling me a hustler, at least wait until we get inside, yeah? I'll show you what we're here for.”

Somewhere down the corridor Louis slides his card in a door with 118 printed on it, pushes it open and leaves it like that until Harry’s inside too. The dim light of the corridor leaves him behind as he stumbles into the dark room.

He stops after the doorstep, flustered for one reason or another and unsure of how to act. Louis though, for some reason knows exactly how to do things. He walks up to him, reaches his arm around him to push the door closed so that Harry, totally in the way, helplessly backs up once again until he’s pressed against the wood. 

The sound when it clicks locked seems deafening.

Louis keeps him at half an arm’s length, but it still almost feels a bit overwhelming. ”Clothing, Harry,” he tuts into his neck. ”There’s still too much of it.”

Shivers, shivers, shivers.

”Not giving me much time,” Harry whispers back, fights to not tilt his head and maybe hopefully have Louis’ lips touch his neck, maybe nibble on his ear just a little. ”Or room.”

Louis does something so horrible then; he listens. He takes a step back, and he keeps walking, disappearing into the room. ”That better?”

Harry whines. ”No.”

”Didn't think so. Leave the clothes,” he orders, pointing to a chair by the door. ”Well, maybe keep something on. We could work you up a little more, eh?”

Harry whines, again, dumps his outer garments in a pile and only then truly realises how he’s hard. From just the talking. Or rather, not talking; being bossed around. Being submissive?

What a strange revelation.

He toes his boots off, leaving him in his ruffly blouse and skinnies and socks. He thought ahead with the blouse thing, as he figured they’re both much for the secretary vibe. 

Which, maybe, is because it’s associated with this other vibe.

He nervously tucks it properly into his jeans before he slowly pads into the room.

Louis’ stood by these huge windows. Like really enormous, and they’re bathing the room in blue light from the evening, sheer curtains pulled aside. When Harry walks up he sees the garden of the hotel splayed below them, another part of the building towering on the other side. 

”Nice view,” he thinks to say. 

Because at least he could think of something.

”Not too bad,” Louis admits and Harry realises he’s looking at him. Smug. When will he take his pants off and demand Harry to get on his knees? ”Champagne?”

Harry almost doesn’t understand the question. Almost. He’s just barely gathered that he’s actually alone in a room with the main character of his wet dreams for the past couple months, and none of what is currently happening ever happened in those. ”Uh, I’m good, thank you.”

”Timid,” says Louis, and truly, Harry’s dream-self had a lot more balls than this. Harry’s dream-self would already be sobbing from dick down his throat. ”How’s some TV sound then?”

Harry says nothing. 

”No?” He cocks his head. ”Had a safe trip here?”

”Louis,” Harry complains, or states, or asks. _Something_. His whole body is hot and throbbing at this point. 

”Mm?”

Harry sucks on his bottom lip helplessly, watches Louis from the corner of his eyes, body turned to the window. Still a bit afraid to move. Waiting for the permission. 

This must spark an idea.

Louis smirks widely as he saunters up to him, fingertips following in a trail up the sleeve of his sheer blouse. Drawing an invisible line over the seams. ”Window,” he points out.

Oh. _Window_.

Though maybe it wasn’t actually the watching and exposure bit that was his thing at all.

Harry bites his lip, stands perfectly still as Louis rounds him, like he’s watching his prey. Why is he so good at this? Why is he like this at all? ”Would you like to touch yourself, Harry?”

_Whimper._ He nods coyly.

”So why don’t you just go ahead?”

Harry’s head is spinning. ”I- I don’t think-” He’s cut off by Louis’ chest pressing against his back, his hands snaking their way down his tummy from behind. ” _God_.”

”You don’t think…?” Louis prompts, rubbing just below the waistline of his jeans. Touching so much without ever touching anything. 

”I don’t think, uh. With the window. There could be, people.”

”And isn’t that what you wanted?”

”I…” He tilts his head back, tries to reach, to feel. He fails. God does he need to just _touch him_. ”I just. Just you.” He puts his hands atop Louis’ wrists. ”Want you.”

Louis scoffs. Humoured. ”Right.” 

He steps back, arms unlinking. Harry has to fight his entire being to not turn after him, but his knees do buckle a little, like he just lost a crutch.

”Figured,” Louis continues from somewhere behind him. ”Sit down, love.”

Harry turns and makes the short steps over to one of the single sizes, trying not to be too fast. Seem eager. A slut. He sits down and looks up at Louis with his hands shoved down his pockets, smirk never truly leaving his face. 

He kneels on the bed, puts one leg over Harry’s waist. Straddles him, with too much fabric of his trainers stretching away from his crotch to deliciously outline it like it should, instead rather pulling up at his ankles to expose a small tattoo of a triangle, like the pride symbol. 

But he doesn’t. Do anything.

”Louis,” Harry says again.

Louis nods to the foot of the bed. Harry turns his head. There’s a mirror on the wall.

He watches in it as Louis leans forward, finally using his hands. He puts one lightly around the base of Harry’s throat as Harry tilts his head back and gasps, watches as Louis’ eyes flutter closed before he starts kissing him there. Harry can’t help but buck his hips up. 

”Still keen on that, then?” Louis asks, chuckling against his pulse point.

Harry’s eyes slip closed every other second, then he’s back to watching, trying a new way to tilt his head just right. Testing out how his hands look wrapped around the back of Louis’ thighs. ”Are you judging?” he questions, just a bit too shakily.

”Just checking,” Louis corrects. His hand gradually puts more pressure on Harry’s throat, a controlled squeezing that comes with a rush bound to give Harry a pang of arousal. ”One and a half hour, right? Can find out all of your likes and dislikes.”

Harry’s just slowly starting to realise that maybe it’s just anything that Louis does that makes him tick. Maybe he’s his kink. Maybe it’s obvious by the way his cock is currently _leaking_ from his touch.

His response is a moan and a grind against him, which even makes Louis groan against his throat, crotches aligned. 

”Bad Harry,” Louis husks, and suddenly cups his cock through his jeans. Harry flinches and gasps, but Louis cuts him off with a kiss. It's wet but haste and he pulls back so that Harry's eyes flutter open again, watches in the mirror when Louis rubs him in little circles. Sees how intently he's looking down on him. ”Such a bad girl.”

A strange noise escapes Harry. Holy shit. What.

Louis comes up to look at his face, eyebrow arched. ”Oh? That good?” He starts battling his button and zipper. ”Let me see if you’re wet for me then, love.”

Harry bites back a whimper when Louis pushes his hand down the front of his jeans, cups him through his boxers where the precome has leaked through.

” _Harry_ ,” he gasps, eyes dark on him. ”You’re _soaked_ , baby.”

Harry whines and nods, squirms underneath him. Louis starts rubbing him again, still outside his boxers but it’s so good, god is it still so good. 

”Yeah, yeah, soaking your little knickers, you are,” Louis continues, clearly spurred on by how turned on Harry’s very clearly getting. It’s kind of ridiculous. This was never something he even considered. ”Should I keep rubbing you? Or do I eat you out?”

Harry throws his head back, fingers digging into Louis like it’s some sort of link to sanity. Though he’s probably just getting more intoxicated the more he touches him. Probably just pulling him more on top of him as well, so.

Louis hums and kisses his neck again, right where it feels the best. ”I couldn’t choose, darling. Bet you taste so sweet I’ll get a cavity.” He keeps rubbing quicker in his little circles, fingers lined along the sides of his cock, like. _Like-_ ”You wanna get up, baby girl? Get on all fours for me?”

Harry’s just panting at this point, eyes screwed shut as he feels his orgasm curl in his stomach. If Louis would just touch him a little more, if Louis would just take him out of his boxers-

Louis stops altogether.

Harry’s so suddenly pulled out of the cloud of pleasure, he just gasps for air, like he just got above water after holding his breath for a little too long. Maybe he was. 

”Babe,” Louis growls, bites the skin he just cherished with kisses, and Harry has to emit a little hiss. ”I _said_ , get up.” 

He leans back, pulls his hand out of his pants. Even in the poor lightning, Harry can tell his fingers look shiny. And maybe that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. 

”All fours,” Louis demands, steps off Harry and motions. ”Head to the mirror.”

Harry whines a complaint and pouts, but starts shuffling up. His cock strains against the roughness of his jeans somehow even more painfully than before. ”Shouldn’t I take anything off?”

”You don’t do anything unless I say,” Louis quips. He’s so confident in anything he says and it strikes Harry he must have done this before, which in turn just makes seethe with the envy, in the stupidest way. He buries his face in his arms as he props himself up on all fours. 

”No, Harry. That’s not it.”

A hand in his hair yanks him up and Harry gasps, positions himself differently and he realises Louis wants him to look into the mirror. So he does; watches as Louis climbs up behind him, still holding his head back with a hand knotted in his hair. 

He lets him go only to slide his fingertips along his body until he can hook them in the waistband of his jeans. Harry visibly shivers.

”You were so lovely and wet for me, darling,” Louis purrs, back to the sweetness. He pulls his jeans down with his boxers and Harry’s dick slaps wetly against his tummy. ”I could practically use it to finger you with.”

”Yes,” Harry whimpers, fights to keep his body up and keep watching. He’d like to just get to the part when he can moan and writhe beneath Louis, lie there so prettily and ask for it harder. ”Do it.”

”I think I’m in charge of that, aren’t I, baby?” Louis questions, but Harry gets it’s rhetorical. Of course he’s in charge. Harry would maybe just like him to like, bend his rules a little. ”Just tell me how you like it.”

”Soft,” Harry says, barely a whisper. ”Sweet and slow. Then rougher. So rough I might just break.”

”Fuck,” Louis gruffs, then parts his cheeks and suddenly there’s hotness, wetness, everything to make Harry lose all control of his limbs and he shudders, arms threatening to give in so bad.

”God, yeah, like that,” he moans, and Louis just licks into him, opens him up with his tongue that Harry's spent months daydreaming about how it would feel on him. ”Just like that, oh god.”

He feels his scratchy stubble, sees just his fingers digging into him. Best is how Louis _moans_ when he does it, sends vibrations through his body to make it even better. 

He enjoys what he’s doing. He wants to make Harry feel good. 

”Don’t stop,” Harry gasps, can’t help but move back a little but Louis just takes it, takes it, takes it. ”Faster, please. _Louis._ _More._ ”

Louis takes a moment to slide his fist along Harry’s aching cock to gather the slick and it twitches from the attention, Harry’s moans only turning more high-strung, bouncing off the walls in a way that could make him scared someone would hear them if he had a care left in his body. 

Louis slides a now-wet finger inside him, gently at first but then thrusts it into him with skill as he tongues around it, aims for the spot he knows best. He easily inserts his middle finger then goes faster, and faster, and just when Harry thinks he’s actually planning to let him come.

It all stops.

Harry’s so shocked by it all, so close to the edge he thinks for a second he’s still going to come. But he doesn’t. Just sways between consciousness and letting go, so beyond turned on, so fucking close he could cry. 

Oh, so they’re really doing orgasm-denial, now.

”You alright, love?” Louis asks through a sneer, spanks his ass once so that Harry almost gives up and falls flat on his tummy. ”I told you, it’s not the season to mope. Pucker up, buttercup. It’s my turn now.”

Harry doesn’t understand. His mind feels clouded, cock so achy and swollen. 

”On your back, sweetie,” Louis muses, pushes at Harry’s shoulder and Harry looks up in the mirror, sees for a second a flash of that gentle expression. ”I’ll be careful.”

Harry turns and lies down on his back and immediately Louis starts climbing on top of him, knee-walks around his torso until he can sit on his chest. Carefully, of course; but Harry’s found out he kind of likes the breathing restriction.

That he really likes having no control. 

”Is this okay?” Louis asks, sweeps his thumb over Harry’s cheek. He brushes it over his sore bottom lip and Harry realises he’s been biting it. ”Tell me to stop if you don’t want it. What you feel goes first, always.”

”Always,” Harry echoes, a bit too dreamily. ”You can go on. I’d let you know.”

Louis grins. He’s started unbuttoning his jeans with one hand, working the zipper down. Harry sucks his thumb into his mouth as they keep looking at each other, like they can’t stop. That’s what comes next. He’ll finally get to taste him for real.

Louis puts his hands away and shuffles up, and Harry realises when he thinks to take Louis out of his pants and get on with it, that Louis’ trapping him. Like, he’s sitting over his shoulders, and Harry can’t reach. _Jesus._

His heart rate spikes when Louis takes himself out of his black boxers, sighs with relief when he starts slowly jerking himself off to slick sounds, head rolling back a bit. He looks just about etched out of marble. One of those sensual, ambiguous Greek statues just, daring you to love them.

Harry watches in awe, all the way from his eyes closed in pleasure, his lovely, parted lips, the sharp edge of his jaw and his adam’s apple down to his black shirt and further down to his damn perfect dick in his damn perfect hand, screwing the swollen head as he emits a little throaty moan.

So sue him if his mouth waters at the sight. 

”What about me, then?” Harry finds himself saying. He’s actually keeping his mouth more open than is necessary. It’s for obvious reasons. 

”Jealous?” Louis chuckles, tries to resist touching himself more. ”Maybe I’ll just wank over you, come all over that pretty face. Then I’d leave.” Kay, so, he’s just taking the piss, so why is arousal still churning in Harry’s tummy? ”Leave you for your _boyfriend_.”

”Not my boyfriend,” Harry snaps, maybe too quickly, almost sounding too insulted. Liam? Seriously? ”Wouldn’t be here if I had one. Do _you_?”

Louis rolls his eyes a bit, presses his cockhead to Harry’s lips and he gasps, opens his mouth for him. ”I’m here too, aren’t I?”

Harry greets him with his tongue at first, a little kitten lick around his tip as he watches Louis’ breathing grow deeper. He’s slowly pushing forward, almost subconsciously, so Harry just gradually takes more until he can finally wrap his lips around him. 

Louis doesn’t hesitate to grab fistfulls of Harry’s hair (another thing he very clearly likes; the both of them, he'd like to add) and starts moving his hips. Harry wishes he could touch, even just for that personal sense of protection, having his hands on his thighs.

But he’s stuck, just used by Louis to get off with. So that when push comes to shove, or rather, little bucks of the hips turn into to deep thrusts, Harry can’t do anything but take it.

And somehow, he fucking loves it.

He may gag, he may get spit running down his chin as Louis fucks down his throat, into his cheek, or just past his tightly-wrapped lips; the look on his face makes up for whatever sort of embarrassment Harry clearly lacks being able to feel. He’s sucking Louis Tomlinson’s dick. This is his forte.

”You like that?” Louis asks, bit breathless suddenly. Harry would nod if he could. He’d nod a lot. ”Taking me so well, love. Doing me so proud.”

He watches him closely while he fucks his much willing mouth, then suddenly, pinches his fingers over Harry’s nose. Harry’s eyes go wide. He can’t breathe. 

Louis gets a few more thrusts in before he’s pulling out and moving his hands away, lifting up a little bit from Harry’s chest to ease his breathing as he coughs and gargles, gasping for air.

Which, would probably be unattractive, if he wasn’t so alarmingly turned on by it all.

”You okay?” Louis asks, brushing his hair out of his face as Harry calms himself down. Damn those basic, vital bodily functions. ”Green light? Breathing okay?”

”Yeah,” Harry replies but fuck, his voice is raspy, ruined from dick down his throat. ”Oh, hell.”

”Fuck, you’re so hot,” Louis muses, and Harry almost wants to slap him for not taking pity in his poor sore throat. But, then he sees he’s started jerking his dick again, over his face, and all that is forgotten. ”Talk more to me, baby. Tell me more.”

”Like what?” Harry murmurs, still wants to touch, touch, touch so much he digs his itchy fingers into the sheets, tries to contain it all somehow. ”How you make me feel so good?”

Louis watches him intensely, clearly nearing the edge. So Harry continues and just gives him what he wants. 

”I’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmurs in his damn near ruined voice. ”Want you always. Want to be bad for you at work so you can come punish me. Bend me over a desk and fuck me right there.” He licks his lips, like he almost wants to stop himself. ”Daddy.”

Louis’ eyes widen and he grips the base of his dick. Stops moving. His gaze is dark on Harry as he grits his teeth. 

Oh. _Oh._

He stutters a breath before he gets the words out. ” _Harry._ ”

Like a warning.

Harry will _not_ be Harried. ”Oh, so that’s how it is, hm?” he smirks, voice teasing. ”That’s how _you_ like it?”

”On all fours again,” Louis demands then, voice lacking sweetness. Is this like the orgasm denial, Harry wonders hazily, but verbal? How he butters him up then discards him like a broken toy? Louis climbs off him onto the floor. ”Right now. Fuck. Did you bring lube?”

Jesus christ. That’s really what’s happening here. 

”Took you for being the responsible one,” Harry comments, climbing up into his previous position on arms and legs that mostly resemble jelly. ”The one _in charge_.”

”Keen on finding out if you like being gagged with a sock as well, babe?” Louis spits and turns to rummage his bag stuffed into the corner. Harry would laugh at his frustration if he wasn’t about three good thrusts against his prostate away from having the best orgasm of his life. Let’s stick to being nice and pliant, for now. 

A vast noise of triumph later and Louis’ got the bottle out, Harry watching in the mirror as he climbs up behind him to roll a condom on himself.

”Stretched enough?” Louis asks, still rough. He kneads his fingers into Harry’s ass and splits him in two, like he’s just playing. 

”Not really,” Harry admits, pouting a little. He’s just being greedy, though. He kind of wants that tongue inside of him again, maybe accompanied by two, three skilled fingers.

”Bite the pillow, then,” Louis shrugs and positions himself. ”I’ll use the whole bottle on you. Can’t fuckin’ wait to get inside you any longer.”

Harry gasps, bewildered by the utter rudeness. Louis grins at this in the mirror, turns his head down, and let’s a string of spit drop from his lips into Harry’s split ass. What! The hell! 

”Mean daddy,” Harry complains into the sheets. ”Mean, mean, mean.”

This earns him a spank, and a lot of lube drizzled into him. A lot. It’s cold too, so he flinches with the sharp noise of skin hitting skin. ”Bad girl,” Louis scolds, only making Harry whine more, wanting so bad to rut against the mattress and relieve some desperation. There’s better coming if he’s just patient, though. ”Baby girl has to be quiet now. Let daddy fuck her nice and slow.”

”Oh god,” is all Harry can really say. ”Yes, daddy.”

And, that. 

”Fuck,” Louis gruffs, lubes himself up. ”Come up with a safe word.”

”What.”

”Safe word.” He slides his dick over his hole and Harry shudders. ”Not gonna be too nice now. Need to know when to stop.”

”Uh." He thinks. "Pineapple.”

”Pineapple,” Louis echoes through a dry laugh. ”Works.”

He pushes inside. It’s a stretch, and it takes Harry off guard despite all the build-up, so that his chest falls against the mattress but his hips stay up, body curved.

Louis seizes this moment, grabs Harry’s hair and presses his face into the sheets, leans his body over his.

”Harry,” he moans, presses a sloppy kiss to his shoulder blade while they adjust, Harry literally pinching a piece of the fabric between his teeth to focus on anything but the discomfort. ”Fuck, you feel amazing. My open and wet little slut.”

He pulls out slowly then thrusts back in, punctuated with a groan from both of them. All Harry thinks is how he always wants to be his, his, his.

Louis works up a pace, splitting into him with his hands at his waist until he’s suddenly pulling him up by his hair again, an embarrassingly whiny noise leaving Harry’s already parted lips when he’s forced back up on his arms, already lost in the pleasure. ”Watch, then,” he commands, meeting Harry’s glazy eyes in the mirror, cheeks dusted pink. ”How I’m fucking you. _Wrecking_ , you, was it?”

”Yeah, daddy,” Harry whimpers, emits more unintelligible noises when Louis is _that_ close to his prostate but never quite hits it, something which must be on purpose, something which ultimately drives Harry crazy. ”So good, daddy, please.”

Louis sneers. He wraps a hand around Harry’s jaw, tilts his head to the side to kiss, suck, then bite his mark on his neck, still snapping his hips into him. He props one leg up for balance and suddenly the angle’s just right because suddenly, they’re both moaning like they’re seconds from coming.

" _God_ , Louis," Harry moans, voice in a tremble each time Louis snaps his hips into him. " _Harder, harder, harder_."

Louis somehow delivers, grabbing hard onto Harry's hips as he leans back a bit and puts his forehead on his back, fucks into him with strained moans. Uses all of his strength to make it good. So, so close. So, so amazing.

Louis bites Harry’s shoulder when he comes, stamps him with his signature and fucks him through it while he shudders, but even when the aftershocks hit him and he’s dazed and his thrusts get sloppy, he stays in character.

He grabs Harry’s cock from around his waist, painful and angled towards his tummy and it’s only a good three strokes until Harry’s _sobbing_ as he spills hotly over Louis’ hand, his teeth in his skin, stretching him to grant him walking-difficulties for at least the whole of the following day. (It is the holidays, though. And Harry has after all been real naughty lately.) 

Louis doesn’t pull out until they’ve caught their breaths and he’s gone soft, ties and chucks the condom in the bin before collapsing on the bed. Harry rolls over his back, sweaty and gross, but mostly feeling quite nice. 

A good enough shag can be quite refreshing. 

”I’ve had a crush on you for six months now,” he blurts out.

Oopsie daisy.

Louis shifts, arm slung over his eyes as he furrows his brow to the ceiling. ”I don’t do emotions,” is his immediate, curious response. Harry’s just picked a whole bouquet of oopsie daisies. ”That not around the time you started?”

”Yeah,” Harry admits unabashedly. ”Third day. Saw you in the stairs, you know? The box situation.”

”Ah.”

Louis sits up and yanks on his boxers, adjusts his balls like such a boy. He pulls his shirt over his head before he pads away to the bathroom.

”Been wanting to do you for six months, then,” he comments, then locks the door behind himself.

Harry smiles into the sheets.

He leaves it to Louis to explain to poor, poor Liam why the room smells of sex and cum and why there’s suddenly a suspicious dark spot on Louis’ duvet, despite his many attempts to dab it dry. Harry leaves after a haste kiss at the door, a promise to text and that they’ll see each other at work’s Christmas gathering that Friday before New Year’s.

Harry’s walking on pink clouds back into the parking lot; slightly like a cowboy due to his soreness, but.

He’s got something quite spectacular planned. 

 

 

 

No one asks why all of Harry’s Christmas jumpers are turtlenecks. It’s festive enough. 

His sister gives him some sort of weird look, though, when they’re opposite each other at the table and Harry goes to scratch at the customary wool-itch on his neck and instead flinches, scrunches his face up from the sting. Louis bites hard. He looks about mauled by bears, if he’s honest. Or like, hit by a dozen golf balls, really hard. 

It ends with a little kick on his shin under the table, and she doesn’t bring it up then nor later. It must be the Christmas spirit compelling her to leave Harry’s love life alone for once.

If only everyone could be so kind. 

 

 

 

”Mate, what the hell was that hotel thing about?” Liam stops, squints his eyes. He leans in a bit closer as if to inspect a rare fossil. ”Did you fall down some stairs?”

Harry rolls his eyes and folds the neck brace thingy on his peacoat up to his ears. ”You said it was so obvious I liked him, but couldn’t take a hint how that was kind of like, _exactly the reason for why I was there?_ ”

They’re standing outside the cafeteria at work, half of their co-workers arrived for _the grand annual Christmas dinner_ and standing inside, chatting away and waiting for the food to be done. It’s been kind of bizarre to see everyone dressed up all fancy to stand where there was a puddle of spilled brown sauce just the other week. Zayn’s got his hair back and Niall’s got his hair up. Jade’s wearing a lovely pant-suit and Harry’s only moderately jealous of how good her thighs look in it. 

Liam frowns a bit, confused and offended. ”He said you’d just booked something wrong with the trains and stuff and had to come give him a new ticket,” he says. ”He kept changing the subject, though, and covering a part of his bed up. Said he spilled something. I thought he was embarrassed he’d like wet himself or something.”

Harry snorts. He honestly thought-? ”No. Nope. I came over because we, uh.” He speaks quickly from the corner of his mouth. ”We did the thing.”

”You, what?”

”We did the do.” Harry furrows his brow. ”Spare me. Look at my neck, does that give you an idea?”

Liam is so shocked he almost stumbles backwards. ” _Harry!_ ”

”Yeah.”

”You- you _did it!_ ”

Harry snickers, shoves his hands into his pockets. He wraps his hand around the travel-sized lube he’s brought with, runs his thumb over the sharp edge of the condom wrapper. Not customary things, but. He’s a man with a plan. 

”Bloody hell,” Liam whispers, still trying to piece it together, bless him. ”How can you get laid if I can’t?”

Harry’s pleased expression falls. ” _Hey!_

”Nothing personal, man. Swear. Oh, there’s Niall.” He leans back and waves through the door. ”NIALL! I HAVE INCREDIBLE NEWS!”

Harry reaches his hand to stop him but it comes back in a clenched fist, Liam off to gossip the very life out of himself. Harry will let him have this one. He owes him for those one and a half hours, after all.

He peeks inside, sweeps his eyes across the room and all the people. He thinks for a second Louis hasn’t arrived yet, then realises he just didn’t spot him at first. This is because he looks completely out of his element. But holy fucking shit does he look good.

He’s got real suit pants on, legs and legs all thick and lovely that lead into shiny, black flats, which look just about brand spanking new. His white shirt is tucked in and he’s got a black tie on, tattoos on display and hair in a swoop. Nothing is festive. Everything is horribly attractive.

He doesn’t notice him at first, busy entertaining one of his work friends with some sort of intense story that requires a lot of hand movements that basically equal porn, so Harry stays and drinks him in for a beat longer. Then he kind of just decides he won’t take this torture any longer and turns his heel, starts up the corridor towards their department. 

Now, the disadvantage of being the reception boy is getting more of the tedious work tasks loaded on you, like coming in early to turn the alarm off and unlock all the right doors; the advantage of being the reception boy is being able to access an entire floor of a building while everyone’s far, far away. 

His phone buzzes with a text as soon as he’s turned on just enough lights in the ceiling to make it cozy dim, but not so dark as to be creepy. He wiggles out of his jeans while his phone opens the app.

_”:( miss you”_

He can’t help but smile. Their last conversation was after all an exchange of dick pics and a declaration of how hard Louis had came, Harry spamming him some pink hearts in reply that pretty much equalled the colour of his cheeks. 

He picks his phone back up to write back, dropping his jeans on the chair by his desk. 

_”Come up to our floor”_  
_”Don’t let anyone see ;)”_

He’s checking his hair in the screen reflection when he gets the next one. 

_”Am I about to be murdered ? Kinky”_

But it’s accompanied by footsteps, and by the time Harry’s slid his phone back into his coat pocket Louis is pushing the door open and stepping inside.

He stops after the doorstep. The door shuts behind him.

”Explain?”

Harry smirks. He walks up to him, cautious of his every movement. He feels himself have the upper hand for once, the one with the power. The power to turn Louis into a melted puddle on the floor, that is; the power to get him exactly how he wants. Like a lioness sneaking up on her prey. 

His eyes never leave his, and Louis swallows dryly. 

”See, it’s pretty cliché,” Harry rather purrs, hands on his back, ”but. I wasn’t on Santa’s nice-list this year.”

Louis breathes a laugh, still eyeing him down with equal parts suspicion and hunger. ”Oh yeah?”

”Yeah.” Harry stops, slow hands reaching to unbutton his coat. When he lets it fall from around his shoulders, Louis can’t quite stifle his gasp.

”Holy shit, Haz,” he breathes, eyes roaming his sheer, white blouse, the black PVC pencil skirt and the thigh-highs; the thigh-highs truly being Harry’s favourite, even though they’ll look as good as any nylons until Louis decides to lift his skirt enough to notice. He’ll notice something else he added to his attire then, too. ”I. Holy shit.”

”Like it?” Harry simpers, batting his eyelashes. He feels so pretty, he just has to let it show.

”Fuck yeah.” Louis reaches his arms out and Harry steps into his grip, hands squeezing his waist and running his palms over the material. ”So pretty, love. Absolutely gorgeous.”

He lets him touch, lets him feel. He can already see how good his dick is going to look in those suit pants when he goes fully hard over him. 

”But I’ve been so bad, daddy,” Harry complains then, tugs a little on his tie, and Louis’ hands suddenly lose the softness to their touch.

”Naughty girl, yeah?” he prompts, and Harry nods coyly, looking at where he's fiddling with the material between his fingers. ”Maybe daddy should scold you a bit.” He almost mutters it to himself, but then he points towards Harry's desk. His hand imprint burns where it’s left Harry’s skin. ”Off you go, then.”

Harry whines a little in reluctance, shuffles back to the desk. ”What do I do?”

”Lean over it, honey,” Louis instructs, comes up behind him. ”Hands on the desk, spread your legs a bit - that’s it, baby. Good. Now, why don’t you tell daddy what you did?”

Harry’s already struggling to breathe a bit. All his planning and acting it out in front of the mirror did not prepare him for Louis’ hands on his hips and his semi pressing between his cheeks. It feels different when he's actually nearly in public; different in a skirt. His hair falls in his face and he flushes a bit. 

”I’ve been thinking about you for so long now,” Harry murmurs, still with a whine tinting his voice. ”And I’ve been, um. I’ve been touching myself, daddy, while we were away from each other, without telling you about it.”

”You touched yourself, when I’m supposed to touch you,” Louis acknowledges. ”That’s not nice, baby. And you’ve been having those dirty thoughts too.”

”For so long. I can’t stop thinking about you and touching myself. You make me feel so hot and tingly, I don’t know what else to do.” He rolls his hips slightly against him, feels the friction. ”So I think about you, and I get so, so wet.”

”Fuck, Harry,” Louis gruffs, almost breaking. Almost. His fingers catch on the edge of his skirt and he slides it up a bit, fingers hot on the back of his thigh. ”Can I?”

”Yeah,” Harry whispers, bites his lip when Louis slides it up slowly to bunch around his hips. 

This reaction is his favourite. 

Louis gasps, and the gasp is exhaled in a moan, stutter and all. He presses his blunt nails into his hips and stares at where the dark nylon stockings end in a pattern of dark lace, at the space of smooth skin of his plump upper thighs, and the white C-cut cotton knickers he’s adorned himself with. There’s a bump where his pink, sparkly buttplugs sits, stretches the fabric see-through to almost let its glitter flakes show through. 

He lets Louis take it in, wiggles a little. ”Daddy likes?”

”Harry,” Louis moans, almost in disbelief, and presses his crotch against his thigh. ” _Love_. Daddy _loves_.”

Harry grins. Mission accomplished.

Louis rubs him over the buttplug and Harry’s expression breaks, makes him stutter a moan. ”You’re so, so naughty. Ready to take me.”

Well, it had seemed a smart enough idea. He’s a millennial, wants things quick and easy; Louis could really just start fucking him straight away, if only he could be done with the admiration bit.

As much as he does appreciate feeling like a beautiful princess, the dance is over, and he’s alone with his prince. So. 

”Condom and lube in my coat pocket,” he points out coyly, looks in the direction of it where it’s left on the floor. 

”Shit, Harry,” Louis mutters under his breath. He suddenly spanks him once and Harry flinches with a little yelp. ”Bad, bad girl.”

”Mean daddy,” Harry whimpers in reply, and Louis scoffs. His warm presence leaves him.

”You know you’ll pay for that one later.”

He retrieves the goodies from his coat and then he’s back, hands roaming. Harry tries his best to stand still while he touches him, wherever and however much. Because he can. He should.

He hooks a finger in Harry’s knickers and moves them to the side, makes an indescribably pleased noise when he sees the glitter specked buttplug in its utter glory. He wiggles it, making Harry bite back a moan as his palms slip on the table. 

Louis takes his dick out of his pants with his right hand and keep teasing with his left one, manages to pull himself out before he has to let go to slip the condom on. 

”Pineapple, right?” he says. 

Harry almost laughs. ”Pineapple,” he states. ”That’s a warning?”

”If that’s the warning, what’s the go-signal?”

Harry hears him pop the lid and smear himself in lube. He smirks. ”Fuck me, daddy.”

There’s a pause, a thick silence. Then the bottle is dropped to the floor. Louis grumbles something, grabs ahold of his plug and wiggles again, but this time to pull it out. Harry moans lightly, bites his lip as it stretches him, then comes out with a pop. 

Louis thrusts into him so hard Harry really slips with his hand. 

He catches himself with his other though, hair in his eyes and thighs already quivering. Louis grabs hard onto his hips and laughs dryly. ”Can’t take it? Should have thought of that before you went and became naughty, huh?”

Harry whines something unintelligible, and Louis thrusts roughly into him again, making him fall forward again. 

”Need that sin knocked out of you.”

He works up his pace; first slow but hard, long and painstaking, then quick, snapping his hips and Harry’s feet almost leave the floor. Each thrust is punctuated with a little noise from him and he’s definitely drooling, definitely spilling precum from his leaking cock. 

Bent over a desk in a skirt, like the boss and his secretary. It’s like taken from a bad porno. It’s kind of all he ever wanted. 

Louis wraps his hand around his cock and start jerking just as his thrusts go from fast to slow and deep, balls hitting Harry’s ass and Harry thinks he might just be sobbing, honestly not even sure. All he knows is the slow drag positively drives him mad, the slow barely-there thudding against his prostate. And it only seems to be getting slower. 

He’s swimming between consciousness when Louis’ suddenly rabbiting his thrusts again. A quick, almost angry rhythm of their skin slapping together and yep, wow, holy shit that’s it. 

He _screams_ when he hits his spot, when he screws his hand so perfectly around his swollen cockhead and murmurs something he can’t even catch but it gives him chills all over, and Harry just comes, and comes, and comes. 

He’s as good as limp and useless collapsed on the desk then, in his thigh-highs and pencil skirt. Fucked out. He feels amazing.

But Louis pulls out, and it snatches him back to reality. ”My turn.”

He pulls Harry down on the floor and he miraculously lands without breaking both his knee caps, which wouldn’t actually have been a surprise when he’s the actual clumsiest boy in the world, and then Louis’ throwing the condom off and pressing his dick to Harry’s lips.

He grabs Harry’s hair when he thrusts into his mouth, and he goes for it as soon as Harry flicks his eyes up to meet his in a silent agreement. 

He thrusts deep and fast, makes Harry gag and gurgle and all that fun stuff but he doesn’t mind, really doesn’t mind. Even when his eyes start watering his own cock actually twitches from how hot Louis looks while he wrecks his poor throat. How much he still gets off on him. 

He pulls out though, jerks himself off once, twice then comes in his hand. Harry lets out a sad, frustrated huff, pouts at Louis as he throws his head back and moans, hips stuttering. He almost licks his hand clean when he spills his seeds. Almost. 

Louis sits back on the desk and catches his breath, tucks himself back into his pants just about when Harry thinks his own heartbeat may have slowed to its accurate frequency.

”Shit, you’re good at this,” Louis states, breathless. 

His hair is a bit messed up, more shaggy and untamed like it usually is. His eyes look glazed but he's got a smile on his face which, albeit exhausted, is bound to give Harry butterflies because he made it happen. 

He smiles proudly. ”Which part?”

”Everything.” He offers his hand and helps hoist Harry up on his feet. ”You’ve got all good things. Only good.” His smile turns into a grin when he gestures around them. ”And you did all this.”

”Just imagine my dinner dates.”

Quickly added to the list of things he shouldn’t ever say. 

Louis just looks at him blankly.

”I cook,” Harry tries again.

”That’s nice, Harry,” Louis comments, a bit strained. Or, a lot strained. 

Bad. Very bad. Harry hums. ”Should we get back then?”

It sounds lame, like they don’t even know each other. Like they didn’t just share every inch of each other for the second time in the span of about a week. 

It sounds a bit sad. 

”Ehm, sure,” Louis shrugs, oblivious to this fact, but definitely feeling the awkwardness. He hops off the desk and adjusts his clothes (still arrestingly sexy and well-fitted, somehow) as Harry goes around it to get his jeans. 

”I need to get changed. Turn around.”

Louis snorts with a roll of his eyes and turns to the door. Harry delicately rolls his thigh-highs off his legs, does the customary jiggle-dance to get his jeans back on. His shirt has seen better days, but it’ll do. He sprays himself with the little perfume bottle he keeps in his drawer and thinks he might just smell a bit more like flowers than I-just-had-amazing-desk-sex.

He sprays it at Louis' back too, to a sound of dismay.

Harry bunches the stockings in his coat pocket once it’s back on him, together with a weird rolled up version of his skirt. Looks like he’s just carrying a cool PVC handbag that’s a bit too big to fit his pockets, for sure. Fashion icon. When will he have his TMZ moment? 

”Alright, let’s go,” Harry mumbles when he moves past Louis. 

Louis grabs his wrist. 

”Listen, I don’t want to date you,” he says, still a whole lot strained, and when Harry turns he doesn’t even seem to be able to look him in the eye, ”but I don’t want to date anyone else, either, you know. I don’t do that. Don’t like to think of the commitment.”

Harry blinks. ”Okay.”

”But I’d… like to try with you, I guess.” He turns his head away. ”If you’d like to try with me. Just uh, keep meeting, texting, and shit.”

Harry blinks some more. He makes o-shapes with his mouth like a fish on land while he searches frantically for words. ”Okay,” his stupid brain throws at him. ”I mean, yeah, of course. I couldn’t ask for anything more, really.”

”Alright.” Louis lets go of his hand. ”Sick.” He starts walking past him, then he stops. He reaches his hand back out and without much hesitation, Harry takes it in his. They both smile a bit dumbly. ”Is this a thing you do when you’re _trying_ with someone?”

”I think so,” Harry smiles, squeezing his hand. It just feels so right. 

Louis looks up in his eyes for the first time in far too long. ”You’re special, H, you know that?”

And he still manages to make Harry’s heart explode in his chest with fondness. 

 

 

 

No one asks them why they’re practically glued to each other all night after that. It’s festive enough. Christmas spirit and all that, when they deliberately walk under every single mistletoe together, multiple times in a row. 

Niall and Liam keep themselves entertained alternating between cooing and fake-gagging at them.

Harry loves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowow will I ever succeed in writing a <10k casual sex fic like I always intend to without getting hella carried away ?? probably not rip
> 
> thank you if you made it this far, I lub u very much ♡


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the christmas party part 2, new year’s eve, and the utter crap that follows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you wanted more? got ya covered. got more than anyone asked for, actually, holy shit I wrote so much
> 
> I relate too much to louis in this

”I’ll see you in the week, yeah?” 

Harry’s drunk-giggling, wrapped in Louis, high on life. He might hiccup his reply. ”Course.”

God he likes this boy so much. 

The Christmas party is ending, it’s a friday night, and Louis just looks so damn good in these lights, somehow. Like, Harry has seen him in these specific lights before (like everyday, because they actually work here you know, yeah I know crazy right) but right now with the dark from outside his cheekbones just look that extra bit chiseled and those eyes look so devastatingly _blue_. Harry kind of just wants to put him in a box and bring him home. Like takeaway. Harry could go for some takeaway right about now. 

Hopefully the cold air outside will sober him up enough to be at least slightly functionable. He doesn’t know if Louis’ hands are inside his shirt or if it’s just ridden up from him slinging his arms around his neck, but it’s probably both, to be honest. Probably both. 

“I should give you a blowjob,” he finds himself slurring suddenly, very determined with the little focused wrinkle between his eyebrow and all. That's a really good idea, right? He should totally do this. It brings the most perfect grin out of Louis, anyway, and Harry just has to _groan_. “Oh god, your face.” 

Louis raises his eyebrows but continues grinning. He shouldn’t take so much pleasure in Harry’s continuous sexual frustration. “What about it?” 

Has he _seen_ himself? 

“It’s so-” Harry’s suddenly appalled by how sodding attractive he is. Not just his face but the curve of his back, his fantastic thighs, the veins in his arms. “Nice. Good structure, look at your eyes, jeez. I’d go like, mad whenever I looked in the mirror, if I was you. It’s good I’m not you. Then I couldn’t give you a blowjob.” 

Louis presses his face into the crook of his neck and chuckles, which is a really nice sound, thanks very much, even when it sends vibrations all through Harry’s body so that he’s kind of not sure if he’s getting hard. Maybe just horny. Maybe they should get back to the desk- wait, did he just say he should give him a blowjob, right in the middle of a corridor? Harry will personally slap himself in the face for that one tomorrow (brilliant idea, still, he’ll give himself that). 

Louis mouths a kiss onto his skin, nibbles a bit at the sensitive spots on his neck as he noses up the side of it. ”You look so hot, love,” he hears him murmur, swears he hears it even if it’s quiet, like a secret whispered into his hair as his hands are definitely holding him close by the dip of his back. 

And he kind of wants them there always. Wants the two of them like this, holding each other all the time, or kissing, or doing… _stuff_ , things that people do when they find a hot, perfect match. Harry’s so ready for whatever the new year has to bring. It’s gonna be the year of self care in the shape of fucking like rabbits in a trillion different ways and positions, places and times. With the most wonderful boy he could have ever found. 

Even though he's disgustingly handsome. 

”Miss you already,” Harry complains in a tiny voice then, fiddling with Louis’ daddy fantasy tie, which earns another kiss. Which just makes him scrunch his nose up in delight. 

”You too, baby,” Louis murmurs in the same honest, desire-filled voice to make Harry’s knees go weak, a small smile on his face. ”My wonderful. Daddy’s wonderful girl, yeah? 

Harry’s stomach still does a backflip from the arousal over that. He almost staggers, and he realises Louis is in fact supporting his whole weight and he’s just melting into him, somehow. Spilling over his edges because Louis’ there to catch him. “Yours. All daddy’s." He looks at his lips and wonders how he should go about kissing him when his aim is messed up from alcohol. "As long as you’re not sick of me.” 

Louis shakes his head. He almost looks proud. "Can’t wait to see you again.”

But suddenly he looks up behind him, and he tenses. A booming voice comes from the same approximate direction. 

”Look at you two love birds!”

Liam, suddenly emerged from somewhere, holds his arms out, like he’s here to proudly collect his child. The child is Harry. Last time Harry checked, Liam was not his daddy. 

Louis rather reluctantly passes Harry over to him, his face a blank. ”Hey, man,” he manages, barely there. The softness and warmth is completely washed off. 

Harry whines as he’s practically rolled away like a log, useless and whiny. He buries his face in Liam’s big, reliable chest, digs his fingers into his plaid shirt. 

He sees the strong look Louis gives him. 

”Glad you two worked it out,” Liam rambles on then, patting Harry’s hair down. It’s a bit tousled up from Louis’ rather aggressive hands on it moments earlier. ”It’s nice to see.”

Harry’s not sure what kind of favour he thinks he’s giving (it doesn’t seem like much of one at all), but Louis gives a small reassuring smile. Strained, though. Eyes still on Harry, the hands now on him that aren’t his own. 

”Didn’t take you for being gay, man,” Liam says with a chuckle then, and. Oh. ”We talked about it. Tried to psyche little old Harry up but I said to watch out because you seem pretty straight, you know? Wouldn’t have guessed it. It’s just funny I think.”

And, it’s just kind of like all colours drain from Louis. Not just that he goes pale; it's the entire rainbow spectrum. That bright, passionate, vibrant light shining from within him, the warmth he lets out only glimpses of that’s enough to heat up the Earth; burned out. All of it. Like it all just. 

Goes. 

Then Harry silently watches as he takes a breath in, moves his eyes up to Liam. And the smile on his face definitely doesn’t reach his eyes. 

”Take care of him, lad,” he says, unphased, and bumps at his arm with his fist. Like a proper bro. Straight pal. Harry’s beyond words. His brain can’t quite connect the dots here. 

He almost forgot this is how Louis usually acts. Emotionally detached. It seems as if he almost just caught himself forgetting to act like that, too. As if that’s what should be normal. 

Harry pouts because he also suddenly remembers this means goodbye-see-you-later, and he really doesn’t want to go home yet. But Christmas break is for another weekend after New Year's has been. Maybe he can see Louis some more in that time, maybe at his house and not at bloody work. Hotels are nice too, but. He’d appreciate less of the secrecy. 

Can’t do much more of seeing Louis and not being allowed to touch him whenever, if he’s honest. He kind of just wants to be his. So much it hurts sometimes. 

(Most of the time, actually. If it’s not his heart then it’s his needy hard-on. It’s a first world problem.)

That’s ought to be over and done with now though. They can date. Well, _try_ , because Louis doesn’t do commitment. Which is such bullshit but, Harry can deal, even though he doesn't do being friends with benefits either. It'll do for now. Just as long as he can still be with him. 

Be with him, and kiss him and adore him and have mind-blowing sex in between episodes of whatever show he wants to watch on Netflix that night. He wants to learn all his likes and dislikes. He wants to be with him and have it feel like home. 

Cheesy. 

Oh, Harry wants some cheese on his takeway. 

Liam pats him on the back, and it makes him hiccup yet again. ”Ay ay, captain,” he chuckles, and Harry chuckles too, but doesn’t know what for. Louis gives a lame thumbs up before he leaves down the corridor. Harry can’t help but feel like something is off. 

 

 

 

Louis has been texting half-assed, written-out-Yorkshire-slang replies or multiples of the sunglasses emoji for four days straight when New Year’s Eve hits. 

The reason? Harry thinks it might have been that he brought up that they should have a real dinner date now that they’re practically an unlabelled Thing. An _Item_ , as it goes. Because they’re not dating but they’re _Trying_. 

Yeah. Might have been that. 

Because apparently that’s overstepping the line in Louis’ world, and yeah so, right, maybe Harry’s being a bit suffocating sending him cute dog pictures or ”what you up to”s at least twice a day, but he just misses him, you know? Misses his quirks and wit and the sharp tongue that can read you to filth or make you come on it repeatedly. Misses his feathery soft hair on the days he’d have washed it in the morning, misses the unkept two-week-bad-boy stubble that left red marks on his thighs. 

And he knows. He swears he knows Louis doesn’t actually suddenly _not care_ about him. It’s just been over the phone after all; it’s more so that he thinks it makes him less responsible, just because a screen separates them, and that he doesn’t have to deal with his emotions because this way, they’re practically artificial. Not real. Harry took psychology. For like, three lectures. He knows things. He knows a lot. 

But when New Year's Eve hits, Louis makes a fatal mistake. He geotags himself (but Harry totally didn’t add him on Snapchat to get dickpics) in the bar that happens to be one of Harry’s favourites (presumably because the toilets have feminist graffiti and scribbled poems and a surprising lack of vomit), just when Harry’s up and ready to go out with Liam and Niall and drink the night away. 

They can wait. He has until midnight, anyway. It’s a Cinderella mission. 

 

 

 

Harry would have accepted Louis dressed up as a chav and dad-dancing away to YMCA. That was truly his worst case scenario before entering the bar. It’s what he psyched himself up to, so that any other probabilities would have been miniscule. 

He wasn’t prepared to see Louis stood talking with a girl. 

Now, listen. Guys can be friends with girls. Like, duh, Harry loves all his female co-workers (despite his jealousy over how good they look in skirts and the fact they can actually _wear them to work_ ), has even tried to befriend his sister’s friends when he was still little and at that life stage they’d labelled a little cherub, bringing them biscuits and badly thought out jokes as his sister much fondly rolled her eyes at him. 

He never had them leaning against the wall and looking up at him all coy through their eyelashes, though. 

It’s a shock, really. Understatement of the year. Let’s rephrase. He feels like his heart actually _fucking shatters_ in his chest, mind exploding from the confusion, but it’s fine. Totally. It’s all fine, because Louis is gay. 

Yeah, like, really. He told Harry that. And he could have said he was bisexual or pan or anything else on the rainbow spectrum if he was, it wouldn’t have made a difference because the point he was making was that he was interested in Harry. There was no reason for him to lie. 

So why is he flirting with someone else?

Why is it a girl?

Harry takes his phone out without taking his eyes off them. Nothing makes sense. He wants to write to Louis and please ask him to explain, ask why he’s been ignoring him, if he’s seeing someone else. That seems like the only possibility. Why did he have to lie?

Louis flashes a smile at the girl before he fishes his phone out of his jeans pocket. 

_”Busy?”_

Harry watches for his reaction, thumbs itching to add more to it, and sees Louis still his movement as he reads the notification. Sees the thoughtful chewing of his bottom lip, eyes lit up with an interested twinkle. It’s just one word but he looks at his phone until the screen goes dark again. 

He says something to the girl while he unlocks his phone again, looks to be excusing himself, so Harry’s quick to continue. 

_”Soz yeah”_ Louis writes out, turned slightly away from her. 

_”I can see”_ , Harry writes. 

Louis instantly looks up and his eyes scan the room until they fall on him. Harry isn’t sure how to read his eyes when they do. 

They show a lot of things, after all, like he’s pondered upon before, for more positive revelations than what he’s currently able to conduct. Mostly they’ll be filled with mischief; a spark of some sort of childish endearment. Sometimes Harry could swear he even saw them big and dark with some sort of passion. Infatuation. Deep desire. 

Right now, he’ll settle for disappointed. Sad, panicked, and a lot disappointed. 

Disappointed of Harry, for snooping? Or of himself, for not staying faithful in this _Situation_ they had going, that didn’t actually by any law nor social norm require him to be faithful? 

Or for being caught doing it?

He says something to the girl and her eyes fall on him as well, making Harry nervously shift from one leg to another. Louis walks up to him without ever looking at him. Which is kind of really sucky. 

He comes so close, looking off to the right, a whiff of his cologne drowning Harry and yeah, he still smells so ridiculously good. He almost wraps his arms around him. That’s what he would have done, if he’d have found him alone. What he would have done, if Louis’ eyes weren’t sad and angry and his body slouching a bit like he’s, what? Embarrassed?

Disappointed and embarrassed, and Harry would still hold him if he asked him to. 

”What’re you doing here?” Louis asks, voice low, but close enough to be audible even over the music. 

Ex _cuse_ me?

”What are _you_?” Harry sputters as a retort, points to the girl with his hand holding his phone before he puts it back in his pocket. ”With _her_?”

Louis looks up at him then, fringe shading his eyes. Why is he so sad? Why is he. So. Sad. 

”I don’t want to be explaining myself to you,” he mutters, shifts away but Harry grabs his arm momentarily to take him back. 

”Oh but you have to,” he snaps, ”otherwise I’ll literally not ever agree to see you again.”

Louis grits his teeth. Harry finds himself doing the same, maybe to bite back another stupid sentence he doesn’t really mean. 

”It’s actually not what it looks like.” Louis laughs pathetically when he diverts his eyes again. ”That’s uh, a real classic, innit? But I get where you’re coming from and it’s not like that, really.”

”Explain, then,” Harry pushes. His eyes must be shooting daggers the way his voice is because Louis looks so small like that, won’t meet his eyes again. He feels like his mum, when his dad would come home late, or drunk, the way she’d argue and he’d just silently, bashfully take it. He thinks that maybe he shouldn’t feel like that.

He can be cruel when he’s upset. Maybe he should think before he talks. Maybe he shouldn’t think so much at all. 

”I don’t like her like that,” Louis mumbles, still sad, still awkward. He shoves the hands down the pockets of his forest green jacket. ”Don’t like anyone like that. Any, ehm, girl, as you might just know, I mean, I told you that. I barely tell anyone that.”

Harry must look like a living question mark.

”Well, shit, none of my mates know I’m-” Louis stops, fixates his gaze at the floor, and Harry realises that’s what he’s been looking off to. He chances a glance at the bar, four boys sitting around in bomber jackets, Adidas trainers, Tommy Hilfiger jeans and drinks in their hands, laughing loudly and shoving at each other.

Boys being boys, huh. 

Straight pals. 

Chilling five feet apart because they’re _not gay_.

”You said it to me, so easily,” Harry says, his own voice gone weak. He tears his eyes away from them, heart thumping hard, and looks back at Louis. He’s still looking at the ground, his mouth a thin line. ”I just thought-”

”Yeah,” Louis interrupts. ”You thought I was confident with that.” He shrugs, huffs out a breath. ”Well.”

Harry stares. Tries to will out more words just by the power of his eyes. 

”We kissed,” Harry practically wheezes, can hear his heart in his ears, feel it in his throat. Thump, thump, thumping like it’s about to explode. ”Like, in front of people. At the Christmas dinner. At work.”

”Yeah.” Louis looks off. ”Sure did.”

”And?”

”And I was terrified,” he laughs, bitterly, like he can’t deal with the pain of it, ”but so happy, obviously, with you, I mean I told you you’re special and that’s a real rarity to me, trust me on that. I never say shit like that. But I guess it felt like-” He presses his lips together. ”No. Nevermind.”

”No, tell me.”

Louis grits his teeth. 

”It felt like, because it was mistletoes…”

”What?” Harry’s shaking. He is. ”If someone asked, you could pretend it was a joke?”

The corner of Louis’ mouth tugs up in a flash of a smirk, but it’s rather miserable. 

”Sounds more fucked up now that it’s not just in me own head.”

”Oh my god.” Harry takes a step back. ”So you- oh my god.”

He breathes out deeply through his nose and looks around himself, doesn’t know what to do. Like, this can’t be real, but it is. Cinderella mission. Didn’t lose his shoe, but lost his bloody heart, apparently. 

Dropped it on the ground and stomped on it, it seems. 

He scratches around his curls, too fidgety. Then he drops his hands helplessly by his sides. ”So you’re just a piece of shit then.”

”Shocker.”

It’s Harry’s turn to laugh bitterly. ”Oh, right! Right.” He shakes his head, like his mind is an Etch-N-Sketch. Nope, still hurts. Pain still very much present, thanks very much. ”Wow, well, I hope you have understanding for that I kind of don’t want to see you right now. Or for like, a while.”

Because, as it seems, Harry was just his little experiment then. A little fun at work. Well, maybe an object, is what you could call it, if you’re being blatantly honest. 

Like how his professor at uni was with him, really, before he fucked off. Buttered him up and tasted him when he got bored. 

That’s just sterling. So fucking perfectly sterling. 

”Harry,” Louis tries, pleading. Harry will not be Harried, but, oh well, let him have at it. It’s not like it can get much worse (maybe drop the news he’s married with children while he’s at it? That’d be so hilarious; it’s not like he’s been hurt that exact same way before, ha). ”You’ve been like, in the closet too, as they call it, haven’t you? It’s really- it’s nothing against you. Really. It’s just me.”

Harry huffs. Him? In the closet? ”Ugh. I was just…” 

He thinks back to himself, not even ten and stealing his mummy’s clothes to dress up in front of the mirror, and his sister would mutter something about him being different, the things she’d hear about in school. And he’d just strike a pose and wait for the paparazzi. 

He thinks of how when all his friends drooled over the female gymnastics team, he himself couldn’t concentrate in gym for all the cute boys dressed in short shorts, how their muscles flexed under their smooth, glistening skin. His first crush, Luke, that would let him borrow his crayons in reception, and Harry took every opportunity to hold his hand or run his fingers through his soft hair or just sit really close to him, never understanding why the teachers would give him such meaning looks or tut he should play with the girls instead. His second crush, Xander, that would kiss him under the benches by the football pit and have him promise not to tell his friends, or he could never see him again. 

”Always…” he continues, voice tinted with slight humour, ”very, very gay. I think everyone sort of knew it, never had to make a big deal.”

”Right,” Louis gruffs. ”Well, where I grew up, kids got beat up for that shit.” Harry almost flinches. ”If you even looked a little different, you know. If you had the wrong shoes, if your mum had the wrong job. Small towns, yeah? Can’t be reckoned with.” And he looks into Harry’s eyes then, and it’s all suddenly too real, the memory clearly too close, still. ”You’re honestly like the first openly gay guy I’ve known.”

Harry furrows his brow, almost forgets he’s meant to be angry and on his way to storm off. Louis' saying things. Louis' displaying actual emotions. ”How would you know? It’s not really a conversation-starter.”

”You couldn’t be gay where I grew up,” Louis states. ”If you were, fucking God forgive you, honestly. It was shit. You’d have to hope and wish to meet someone in the back of bars. Alley ways. Tell your friends you’re going for a smoke, meet a guy, hook up in a bathroom. Feel something for just a few minutes. Never mention it again.” He scoffs. ”Like the fuckin’ 80’s or summat.”

”Well.” Then he doesn’t really know what he wanted to say. What could he say? He always had a supportive family, barely even had to have the proper coming out. Just talked about cute boys in school with his sister, brought his first boyfriend home one day when he was 16. And then, that was that. That was just a part of him, not a label, not a burden. Harry likes boys, and there’s nothing weird about that. ”Wow.”

”Yeah.” Louis huffs. ”Wow. So.”

”So… You thought it was a good idea to feel up a girl instead?”

Louis cocks his head. ”That honestly look like what I was doing?” he suddenly seethes. ”My mates were looking, man. I was just talking. Maybe could get them to lay off me for the night then, pretend I got her number, like it goes.”

”So you’ve done it before?”

Louis grinds his teeth, his jaw set. Harry would think his eyes were glossy with tears if that wouldn’t be like absolutely humanly impossible for him. ”None of it’s real. It’s this big fucking cover-up and it’s just what I have to do, pretend to talk to them and it’s shit, it’s all shit, for them too you know? I don’t want to be leading them on and breaking promises but my mates would be asking, and I can’t deal with that right now.” He scoffs, still angry but so desperate. ”And fuck me if they haven’t seen me stood talking to you for like the past five minutes so I’ll have to explain _this_ whole situation without slipping up and saying I like you or some shit.”

Harry nods slowly. ”Or some shit.”

”Fuck.” Louis shakes his head at himself. ”Can’t say anything right, can I?” 

He sighs heavily, looks the other direction. His voice a much softer murmur when he starts over. 

”I missed you,” he admits. Which, okay, Harry’s breathing. ”I said I wanted to try with you, yeah? I meant that. Can’t stop thinking about you.” _Aaand_ Harry’s not breathing. Louis presses his lips together, stopping himself. ”But that’s uncalled for right now, I guess.”

”Yeah,” he agrees, though he’s _this_ close to asphyxiation. He sighs, prevents at least that disaster. Wonder if Louis would catch him if he fainted or if that would look too gay. Jesus christ. ”But I think you owe me one.”

”Yeah well, not to be problematic here, but just so you know it’s pretty tragic talking to one person and wishing you were talking to someone else. Someone pretty much polar opposite. But then knowing that you can’t, because you’d be, fucking, goddamn disowned, or something like ’at.”

Harry suddenly puts his hand on Louis’ shoulder. Louis’ piercing eyes dart to his hand, like a dog ready to attack, to then slowly drift up to Harry’s. ”If they’re your friends, they’ll accept you for who you are.”

”It’s not that easy.”

”Well it should be,” Harry blurts out, and almost withdraws his hand in defeat, but instead he squeezes. He doesn’t really want to give up. Not really. ”Otherwise they like, don’t deserve you.”

Louis suddenly grins, amused. ”Thought I was a piece of shit.”

”You are.” His hand slips down, but just to grip his bicep instead. Feels how Louis subconsciously flexes the muscle. ”Nice, though. Sometimes. A lot sexy. And not worth homophobic slurs.”

”Ay up.”

Harry can’t help but smile crookedly, albeit weakly. He senses the hints of something similar on Louis’ face, like the thunderstorms in his eyes are clearing up, if just for a moment. 

”It’s nicer when you’re happy,” he murmurs, not sure if it’s even heard. 

But then hemakes the mistake of glancing off towards the bar just in time to see a set of heads turn away, as if they definitely weren’t staring at them, nope, definitely not whispering about them right now either. All like, who's that guy in the glittery women's shirt talking to Lou? Why's he stood feeling him up like a- Great. Awesome. 

So much for pretending. 

The smile fades right off his face and he looks back to Louis. 

”Guess I should go,” he mumbles suddenly. Drops his hand. 

Louis immediately follows when he takes a step back. ”Hey-”

”No,” Harry shakes his head, ”it’s fine. Be with your friends if you want. You should. You need them.”

Even if they’re the type of people that say something is _gay_ instead of _bad._ Even if they’re the type of people that would mutter under their breaths about _people like Harry_. 

Honestly, he doesn’t feel like being here anymore, wasn’t meant to in the first place either if he thinks about it. He’s got other places to be. People to meet. Greater people. And although he would much rather have spent his night alone with Louis, it would have had to be just that; alone. With a capital A and underlined, bold and in red. Because apparently, social psychology tells a whole lot of truth about us. 

”They’ve been dicks to me anyway,” Louis counters then, hissing, ”who gives a shit? They can tear me apart about it tomorrow.” He furrows his brow and it almost looks pleading. ”Where you going?”

Harry shrugs. ”How did I find you?” he asks, rhetorical. 

Louis looks at him like you-gotta-be-kidding-me. ”Come on now.”

Harry’s not kidding. ”Maybe put some effort in.” He throws his arms out in a questioning way, like it’s a suggestion. ”Dunno, that could be nice.”

When Louis just gives him a look, he drops his hands by his sides and turns on his heel. 

Welp, that was bitchy. 

His adrenaline pumps in victory. 

 

 

 

Harry saunters in towards Niall and Liam when the clock is closing in on 20 to 12 and everyone already seems to have found someone to kiss at the strike of midnight. 

He thinks maybe this is where he should have spent his night instead. 

He pushes those thoughts out of his head and grabs a drink. Louis can mope all he wants, and it shouldn’t ruin Harry’s night. The tiny feisty umbrella in the tropical drink now in his hand is bound to ensure a positive turn of events for the night. 

Doesn’t make him feel any less lonely though. And he can’t even find a random hunk to persuade, even if he is still technically painfully single. He’s got badly faded love bites just barely covered by the collar of his shirt for starters and thing is he’s still sort of hopelessly crushing on a tiny, angry, sad man with the prettiest blue eyes the exact colour of the umbrella-

Oh god dammit. 

”Harry!” Niall exclaims, coming up to him so that he has to look up from death-glaring his glass. His palm tree shirt is significantly more unbuttoned than it probably should be (but who is Harry to judge?), with his chest adorably alcohol-flushed. ”Where’d you bugger off to?”

To try to talk to a dumb boy? Maybe he shouldn’t say that out loud. 

”To try to talk to a dumb boy,” he says out loud. 

Niall squints at him. ”What dumb boy?” he asks. ” _The_ dumb boy? I mean- _Louis_?”

Harry sighs. It’s a sigh that sums shit up. Niall’s still squinting at him though. ”That’s the one,” he sing-songs.

The speakers are currently blaring an old Kelly Clarkson song and Harry wants to sink through the floor. It’s the heartbeat song one and he remembers getting ready to see his old hot professor when that would occasionally come on and set him right in the mood. Oh, how lovely to be wanted, the exciting danger of having to keep it a secret. 

Why couldn’t this be the same? Better yet, why couldn’t he have Louis here, telling him this story and making him tip his head back with laughter before he’d sweep him in and they’d make out in the middle of the room without caring who sees or what they think because they just really like each other and there shouldn’t be anything _sad_ about that?

”Do you wanna like… talk?” Niall sways a bit. Maybe he should go lean on a bird, or Liam’s scarily strong shoulder. ”I can be emotional, man. Can paint our nails and listen to Olivia Newton-John.” He frowns quickly. ”I mean, not that talking about feelings should be boxed into being feminine, or summat.”

”Neither is painting your nails,” Harry reasons in a drawl. He studies his own nails, sparkly pink for the evening. ”Or liking good music.”

”Touché,” Niall goes, impressed. He raises his glass. ”A strange twist of fate, that is.”

The corners of Harry’s lips quirk upwards involuntarily at the uncanny song reference. He thoughtfully swirls his drink. ”Thanks, Ni,” he says in a soft tone, in reply to the earlier question, ”but I don’t really like, want to talk right now, about that.”

”Is it because I’m drunk?” Niall asks, mock aghast. ”Oh I swear, I only had a glass!”

Harry fights the smile, he fights very bravely actually, but Niall full on grins at him and leans forward as if to share a secret. 

”Is it because I’m Irish?”

Dimple explosion. ”Oh, just leave,” Harry mutters amusedly and flails his arms at him. ”Scram. Pester someone else.”

Niall walks backwards, still grinning, is about to turn away but points a meaning finger at him. ”You’ll be okay?”

Harry raises his own glass. ”I’ll be great.”

Niall gives him a thumbs up and stumbles back through the crowd, and Harry is suddenly a lot less than great. A lot less than okay. 

Oh well. Bottom’s up. 

He immediately feels the calming warmth unwirl in his stomach as the alcohol fills those sad holes within him. Might even help him have a good time. He’s ordering his second one when there’s a boy stepping up by his side and, oh, well. Scratch that. It’s a man, clearly some ten years or more Harry’s senior who he's never seen before and he’s leaning against the bar, very obviously giving Harry a thorough once-over.

He feels a little awkward, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Pointing out how he’s staring might make things more awkward.

“Can I treat you that one?” the man asks him, voice dark and _manly_ , once his second drink gets served to him at the bar. 

Oh goodness, no. “It’s fine,” Harry assures, tries to smile politely at him, finally acknowledging those beady eyes on him. His mum taught him better than to be rude to people. But she also taught him better than to talk to strangers. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” He smiles, but it doesn’t calm Harry in the slightest. He’s not in the mood for this. Where’s Niall? Where’s Liam with his ability to physically lift him to the other side of the room? “You look lonely.”

“I’m afraid I’m not very good company right now,” Harry says, and it’s very honest. He can’t even use his wit and charm to come up with a stupid joke to make him leave across the floor in a beeline for the exit.

“Oh, come on now.” The man’s leaning in, oh no he’s leaning in and he doesn’t even smell nice. “I bet you’re lovely.

Harry doesn’t know what to say, feels the slight tangles of panic in his stomach as he comes closer and Harry just grip his glass tighter. And then he hears a voice behind him: “Oh fuck off, dude.”

The man turns around, and Harry moves his eyes to look down at the bar. 

No fucking way.

“Pardon?” the man asks, but Louis must be giving him the best deathglare in the world. He's good at those. He's good at the intimidation.

“He said no, so leave him the fuck alone, why don’t you?” The man gets off the chair, and Harry can hear the smirk in Louis’ voice. Triumphant, even when Harry knows he's standing half a head shorter than the man. “Yeah, don’t want the whole bar hearing what a little perv you are, do we now? You got someone waiting at home? Maybe let them know you're out feeling up guys half your age.”

He’s off and away across the floor before Harry can even have a single more cohesive thought. Oh my god. He’s not too sure how much trouble he’d have been in if Louis wouldn’t have come in just then, and he wishes he could have handled it himself, he so does, because he isn’t actually a baby believe it or not. 

But still, he doesn’t completely know if he’s angry, at himself and at the man and at Louis for coming in and saving him when he can take care of himself. Or if he’s thankful, shocked at least, and just really-

Holy shit, he just did that. He really just did that. 

There’s a long sigh, then there' that familiar sad shape that appears beside him then. The sad shape has a sad-covering voice that might just sound a bit hopeful, despite those melancholy undertones. The hints of undercurrents in a seemingly calm, blue sea. At least the storm on top of it has culminated. “Are you okay?”

And Harry doesn’t know what to say. He’s really not, but he. Louis just. He protected him. He was protective of him.

He doesn't say a word. 

Louis bites his lip distractedly. ”Care if I join you?”

”It’s taken,” Harry’s quick to reply, looks over his shoulder. Louis’ got his hood up and he’s so gorgeous. So, so gorgeous, oh god oh no. ”By the guy I’m seeing.” He looks across the room, can’t keep his eye when he’s spitting venom like this. ”Oh, would you look at that. He never showed because, he’s stuck in the closet, and I was almost assaulted.”

Maybe _delirious_ is what he is. Louis should stop finding ways to make it so difficult to be mad at him. Then his arguments for having him know he should feel bad would be less far-fetched and insane-sounding. 

He cares about him. Louis does care. 

He breathes out heavily then sits on the stool. Excuse you. He reeks of smoke. That jacket’s bound to go from forest green to nicotine yellow, which doesn’t go quite as well with those eyes. ”Sounds like a dick.”

”Yeah,” Harry concludes lightly, sarcastic though, really, and he focuses his eyes on the drink yet again. His shoulders are drawn up even though he doesn’t mean to. Doesn’t mean to be so guarded and cold. "Should get used to it, I guess."

”Oh no, this isn’t your fault.” Louis scooches closer on his stool. ”It’s not your fight to take on. It’s his- uh, mine.” He furrows his brow and pats his chest. ”It’s mine. My fault.”

Harry gives him a glare. ”Sorry, wasn’t talking about you.” 

He can’t help his lips curling into a smirk, stupid as this is, even if it falls as soon as he turns his head. Worst liar. Absolutely horrendous. 

He's not sure if Louis caught glimpse of it, or if he just hesitates a beat to try to gather his thoughts enough. 

”Can’t you tell how weird this is for me?” he asks from behind him. He’s speaking low, but sure of himself, just audible enough over the music. ”I don’t want your sympathy. Fuck that, I just never… I mean it’s not like I never _care_ , I just never put this much effort and time in. And emotion.” He pauses for another second. ”I’ve only had hook-ups, one night stands. Always. But I don’t want you to be. I don’t want you to, like. To leave.”

Harry swallows thickly. He picks at his nail varnish, keeps facing away. 

Louis crosses his arms in front of himself on the bar. ”Won’t you let me do this at my own speed?” 

Harry wants to say he’s had his whole life to deal with it, or at least the entire last six months they’ve spent flirting. How about the past two weeks or so since they kissed for the first time. Since they got each other alone in a hotel room and touched each other like it was their oxygen. 

He doesn’t have to be so tough and independent all the time. Harry just wants a little bit of his heart for once. 

Louis clicks his mouth. ”So you’re mad at me,” he decides. 

”Yeah, Louis.” Harry spins back around and levels him, his disheveled hair and lovely two-week stubble. Fuck his stupidly pretty face, fuck his stupidly lovely voice. ”I guess I kind of am.”

”Because…?”

”Because.” Why, really? He’s sure there’s a fair reason somewhere. Sure he’s not just being a self-entitled dickhead demanding Louis to budge for his own will. 

Straight people should have to come out too. Then these situations wouldn’t happen. He’d like to spit on the hetero norm and the masculinity one too, please and thank you. Spitting is so gross. 

”Because, you’re expecting me to be in this weird version of a relationship with you,” Harry continues, eyes drifting across the ceiling in thought, ”but only when you feel like it. Just be there like a, fuckin’, booty call, or something, because you _don’t do commitment_ and we can’t be in public because you’re _scared_. And you say you’re not but I know you are because why else would you want to hide it, and that’s kind of really sucky, it is, because I really care about you but I’m not sure you even believe that, because all in all it just sort of makes it sound like you’re ashamed of being seen with me. Like I’m the big problem here.”

And that’s about the most he’s ever talked. 

They’re both setting records like that tonight. 

Louis tilts his head. ”So you’re giving me an ultimatum?”

”That’s not-!” Harry stops. ”Oh.”

”Yeah. You are.” He drums his fingers against the bar top. ”And pressuring me.” Eureka. ”But that’s fine, oh yeah, totally.”

”That feels like what you’re doing to me too, though,” Harry counters, frowning. ”Like, _hey, love_ ,” he mimicks in bad Yorkshire, ” _let’s have you believe I like you then refuse to like, openly date you, as if I actually despise you_.”

Louis snorts, like he can’t help himself. 

”Oi oi,” Harry throws in, deadpan. 

Louis leans over the bar, suddenly smug. ” _Believe_ I like you?”

Harry flushes. Oh no. He plays casual. ”That not it?”

Louis rolls his eyes but looks fond. Or something. Is he capable of looking fond? It makes Harry’s chest flutter, is the point. (As he tends to do.) ”Course I like you,” he murmurs through a faint smile. ”This is kind of the problem, innit? I told you you’re special, and I never would have been here if I didn’t think that. Because suddenly I can’t shut my feelings out, like I’m used to, can I? I want you all the time.”

Harry gulps. Which must be visible and god why does he _do_ things to him like this? 

”Neither can you,” Louis continues, flicking his eyes up at him. ”Don’t think it’s one-sided. We like each other. Not just in a sex way. Not just because you make a really fucking hot sub - you’ve kept me up at night thinking about it, like I’m sorry but, honestly.” Which sort of makes Harry’s stomach twist with arousal. Louis looks down at his hands, still smiling in a way like he’s trying to resist it, but can’t. Can’t resist how much he feels. ”It’s kinda obvious.”

Harry shifts, feeling hot from the power behind those words. ”And you really do want to try?” he asks, just to be sure. ”We could, you know... You don’t have to come out. I wouldn’t put you in danger.”

”There’s no danger, I’ve just avoided it,” Louis husks, scratches his stubble. ”Made some dumb decisions. I think it’s time, I mean I- I do want to be with you, in short. That doesn’t change. If you… If you want to be with me.”

”Yeah,” Harry says breathlessly, too quickly, too eager but fuck does he want that. Fuck does he love Louis talking emotionally or just talking overall. 

Louis looks up with a smirk, like it’s a triumphal but a mischievous one, and Harry feels himself flush. 

”Listen,” Harry starts, but then the countdown begins. 

He looks quickly at his phone and sure enough, it’s reading 11:59 as the people around them scream out number six.

When Harry looks up, parts his lips to maybe excuse himself or something, disappear away and maybe in the morning all this will have just been a weird stress dream, Louis suddenly feels so close, his eyes on him, on his _lips_. And Harry just. Kisses him. 

He kisses him; nearly knocks him off the stool in shock as he presses his lips to him but he kisses him back, he really does, and the crowd yells out _one_ as they get their hands on each other. 

But maybe Louis just grips his collar like that to not fall backwards. 

Surely that’s why he’s not letting go. 

Because they linger. They linger a while. Harry realises it feels a bit like some sort of desperation, like this is how they’re meant to be. Together. But it won’t work. It just doesn’t want to work. 

Louis’ wild-eyed when he pulls back, takes one hard sweep across the crowd but no one’s booing, calling names, being generally shit human beings. And then his eyes go back to Harry, and he suddenly looks much less likely to bolt at any second. 

The hard exterior softens. He seems warm again.

”Shit,” he concludes, like that speaks volumes on its own. 

”Yup,” Harry decides. 

And they smile. 

They actually smile, big and silly and it feels like a weight lifts, like they’re the only ones and Harry realises Louis’ still got his hands on him, on his waist, and Harry has his on his forearms. Touching in public. What a revolutionary gesture. 

Niall, of course, breaks the bubble. 

Hyperactive golden retriever. 

”Babes!” he screeches, tugs Louis into an awkward half-hug. They barely talk at work. Niall’s just really plastered. ”You made it!”

He wasn’t even invited, no less by Niall but, okay, sure. ”Course,” Louis grins, jabbing him in his side like tickles. 

His eyes are at Harry though, and Harry feels a certain type of warmth and electricity. Louis is the actual sun, for one; there’s also the fact that his attention tends to manage to get him a little hot and bothered at times. Still does. Always does. Fuck, look at those fucking cheekbones. 

When they part ways in the early morning hours, Louis actually apologizes. Harry has to do a double take, but Louis just says he’s sorry again, very bashedly, without eye contact or touches but, it happens. He takes it as an achievement. It helps him throw that well-deserved thank you right back at him, anyway, and Louis just gives him a fond look. Like it was obvious he'd protect him.

Harry wishes he was in the back of the taxi with him when he goes home up the dark roads, with the yellow light flashing over his face in bursts with each of the streep lamps, and he wishes he was there with him in his bed, curled warm and secure against his back when he lulls himself to sleep to _Issues_ by Julia Michaels softly on repeat from his bedside table. 

_Bask in the glory of all our problems_

_’cause we’ve got the kind of love it takes to solve them._

Because Harry has issues, and one of them is how bad he needs him. 

 

 

 

He’s on his fifth glass of please-god-I-will-not-let-a-hangover-take-my-life water and trying to comfort his churning tummy with a slice of toast when his phone pings with a message. 

He pads over to it where it’s charging by the window, drinks in some warm rays of sunlight that seems to dissolve the throbbing behind his skull if even just slightly. 

_”Text me your address”_

Harry furrows his brow. Admittedly, Louis’ been on his mind all morning (if the morning includes 3AM before he managed to fall asleep and the current lazy noon-o’clock), he just wasn’t expecting to hear from him yet. 

He waits for an explanation but gets impatient and stuffs his toast into his mouth to write out a questioning reply, when a second one from Louis rolls in. 

_”Takin you out”_

Harry chokes on his toast. 

He slaps at his chest frantically. _”WHAT”_ he writes back, followed by his flat’s address, followed by another _”What”_

_”20 minutes ?”_ is the response he gets and Harry tugs the charging cable out and flails through the kitchen towards the bathroom as he types out a stressed _”Fuxk ok”_ then chucks his phone into a pile of laundry on the floor. 

Fuck. Okay. 

_So_. 

He jumps in the shower, turns it scalding hot to wash off the stench of alcohol, turns it icy cold to wake himself up. He nearly slips on the tiles when he jumps out and dries himself off, mind too busy racing around the thoughts of what clothes to put on to even consider what’s about to happen, only ever returning to the thought when he finds himself choosing a white tee and skinny jeans over a flower-patterned dress shirt. 

It can’t be that fancy. This is _Louis_.

Oh, god, this is _Louis_.

He jumps into black boxers and the jeans, checks his bum in the mirror before pulling on the shirt and then runs around to look for matching socks. Louis is coming to his street, Louis is taking him out. He’s going to be seen in public with Louis? He’s going on a date? With Louis? 

He’s going to make a fool out of himself. This is the only thing that’s certain. 

He’s just managed to blow dry his hair and put in an accurate amount of gel to tame it, brush his teeth, put on a flowery sweet perfume with deodorant and checked his face for non-existent blemishes or stubble when his phone buzzes on the floor. He runs out to jump into his boots, yanks his suede jacket off the hook before he’s locking his door and tumbling down the stairs, a stupidly giddy, warm feeling welling up inside of him. 

_”Outside”_ the text reads. 

And he is. 

There’s a few parallel parked cars outside, but Harry can tell it’s the black 90’s BMW that’s his chariot for this fine midday. He has to force himself to not sprint to it with open arms like they’re lovers on the beach. Play it cool. Don’t smile like an idiot in love. 

He’s smiling like an idiot in love when he opens the passenger door and slips inside. ”Hey.”

There goes his self control. Swoosh, out the window, lets close that door now. 

”Wasn’t sure if you’d make it on time,” Louis grins. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel as Harry buckles in. ”I’m early.”

”Oh, I-” Harry checks the watch on the dashboard and yup, it’s just been 15 minutes. He _ran_. ”I ran.”

And there goes some more self control. Because if God exists then he’s a little shit who loves messing with people in his little game of the Sims. 

”You look nice,” Louis comments casually as he eyes him down, over his heaving chest and twiddling fingers. He’s in a black shirt and ripped black jeans, what seems to be some Yeezys on his feet. His hair is artfully dishevelled and his scruff is just outrageously hot. Poets can’t think that shit up. Painters are pulling their hair out. And Harry… Harry’s slowly dying, he’s sure of it. 

”You too,” he murmurs before he can stop himself. Louis smirks as he puts the car in drive. ”How did you know I was even home?”

”Well we’re both fairly hungover,” Louis reasons, blinking out of his spot and rolling down the street, ”and I was just lying around in me boxers, so. Figured.”

Harry has to squeeze his thigh. Not sure why, maybe to pinch himself back to reality. ”Figured I was lying around in my boxers?”

Louis chuckles breathily and looks out the side window. ”A man can dream.”

Shit. Fuck. Alright. 

They exit his street and drive towards the town center. Unsurprisingly, the roads are pretty deserted, the whole city partied out. First day of the new year. 

Harry looks out at the passing buildings he’s seen so many times, mostly while running to catch the tube. ”And where are we going?”

”Hungover,” Louis reminds him, tapping his temple. ”The only acceptable thing is chips with whichever fried delight you prefer.”

”Fish?”

”Fish and chips, then,” Louis concludes and makes a turn. ”Some curry sauce, some me trying to make up for acting like a proper dickhead.”

Well, that was unexpected. Harry turns to him with a furrowed brow. ”It’s really fine.”

”It’s really not,” Louis protests. ”You were right with everything you said. Especially the piece of shit thing.” Yikes, so he’s kind of _very_ cruel when he feels upset. ”And I meant everything I said. The last bits of the night in particular. You know that right?”

He glances over at him, as if to convey sincerity. Harry sighs and faces forward. ”I don’t really want to talk about it.” 

Louis nods slowly and gives it a rest. ”Hungover,” he repeats. 

”Hungover,” Harry confirms. 

And, on a heartache hiatus. It’s easier to just block it out and pretend it’s fine. Like how the stereo is currently playing _Teenage Kicks_ , seemingly on a personal mixtape made by Louis given the makeshift album cover he sees in the side pocket down on the door, which makes things slightly more fine. He leans in and turns it up before sitting back and crossing his legs. 

”What do you typically like to do on your days off then?” Louis asks, and it’s almost too polite. It doesn’t sound quite right for him. Harry finds himself looking forward to him making fun of his hobbies more, maybe the point when he bends him forward and spanks him about a bit…

Um. Uncalled for. They’re like, still recovering from an argument, right? Yeah. An arguing non-couple. Cough, cough. 

”Mostly try to catch up on sleep, uh, go for a run, watch a movie,” he rambles, swirls his hands around in the air. ”Spend time with friends. Which are mostly work friends, since I moved out.”

”Let me guess, you’re into the fancy cinematography?” There he goes. The world is spinning the right direction again. ”Well-produced rom coms. Or 20’s noir or summat, also about romance. Set in Paris.”

Harry sinks down but smiles big. ”It’s nice,” he whines. 

Louis scoffs. ”Where’s the action? Blood? Fucking?” He shrugs. ”Or maybe you watch it for the sexy bits, eh? I pass no judgement.”

Harry bites back a grin, very unsuccessfully so by biting his lip and grinning. He knows Louis’ watching. ”And what kind of kinky stuff do _you_ watch?”

”Well I like me a bit of everything from Pulp Fiction to Point Break. Psychological, criminal type stuff is sick.” He parks outside a not-so-high-end restaurant. ”But I’m a massive fan of other shit like Grease if I’m honest. Fun stuff. We’re here.”

Harry doesn’t have time to swoon over young John Travolta before Louis’ out the car and waiting to lock it. Harry stumbles out and joins him as they walk up together. 

”I love Grease too,” he manages to get out. ”Seen it like a billion times.”

”Oh yeah?”

He nods contently. ”Danny Zuko is a dreamboat.”

”I played him in a school play,” Louis points out, stuffing his hands into his pockets and mimicking his walk and voice. ” _Oh, Sandy_. Yeah, yeah, was a drama nerd back then, I was. Thought I wanted to work with that or music, and settled for music then. Well, kinda.”

”Same,” Harry says, remembers himself singing Olivia Newton-John’s songs from the movie into his mum’s hairbrush. And, now. The assistant and the engineer for a local music company. ”Didn’t play Danny Zuko, though. Or Sandy, or anyone. I think I’d make a good Frenchy.”

”The beauty-school dropout?” Louis grins. ”Sure. Name suits you. You are quite fantastic at french kissing.”

Harry blushes heavily at that. Louis absolutely notices when he holds the door open for him. 

So this is going splendid. 

 

 

 

Louis follows him to his door a good three hours later. ”Did I make it up to you? Slightly?” He seesaws his hand. ”25 percent?”

Harry has spent his day curing his hangover with delicious food, laughter and a cute boy. He has no complaints. 

He leans against the doorway and pretends to look skeptical. 

Louis clicks his tongue in a tutting way as he ponders. ”More fried food? Or! Do I sing you the Grease soundtrack?” He’s clearly too excited by the idea of it alone. ”I still know them songs by heart, swear.”

Harry can’t help but mimic his grin, almost giggles at his suddenly playful expression. 

It spurs Louis on even more, of course. ”Oh yeah, that’s it, isn’t it? I’ll just paint on some flames on me car. Get me old leather jacket out and sing about summer loving.”

Harry smiles too big. This guy. ”I hate you.”

Louis looks so fond then. He bumps his shoe against Harry’s. ”I don’t hate you.”

Harry bites his lip through the smile and the butterflies. Forgets yet again to be angry. Well, listen. Louis should have told him he wasn’t out and had no plans of being out despite what they had going. He should. But really, Harry gets it. Or, maybe he doesn’t, but he’ll try his very best to. 

It’s not Louis’ fault, is the point, and that’s a relief. It wasn’t on purpose. He isn’t a bad person. ”Then I don’t hate you either,” he murmurs. 

They smile at each other for another beat. He doesn’t really want him to go. 

”Thank you, for the, uh… Was this a date?”

Louis shrugs. Clueless. 

It was totally a date. 

Harry narrows his eyes. ”So was it just a cover-up you don’t do commitment then?”

”Well I don’t,” Louis says instantly. ”Couldn’t explain it to anyone for starters, if I was with a man. As for the rest… eh well, too much of a bad boy, aren’t I?”

”Oh, shut up.” Harry rolls his eyes at his smug expression, but smiles still. ”I liked the emotional you more.”

”I can show you emotion,” Louis murmurs with mock seduction, wiggling his eyebrows to make Harry snort, ”if I can come inside.”

Oh. Oh!

See, now, this could go either horribly wrong or horribly amazing. Horribly amazing meaning they could make out, but wrong because they wouldn’t make up. Because the problem’s still there. Harry wants him all the time, and Louis only wants him when no one he knows is watching. 

They’ll work it out. Slowly. 

”Not today,” Harry decides and tries to not sound sad about it. It should be hopeful. He is. Louis nods, and Harry tilts his head. ”Do you mind?”

”I figured,” Louis shrugs. ”Worth a shot.”

”When you show up in a leather jacket I promise I’ll let you in.”

Louis grins. ”I’ll practice _Greased Lightning_.” He brushes his arm. ”Bye, Harry.”

He doesn’t seem like he wants to go either. ”Bye, Louis.”

There’s a second when they’re both uncertain, silent. Then they both go in to steal a kiss at what seems to be the same time. Which lingers. And lingers. 

And lingers. 

Harry has to force himself to not back into the flat and drag Louis with him. Pull the door closed then walk backwards until they crash onto the sofa. Say their goodbyes again, hours later. 

They part softly and smile. ”Bye,” Louis says again.

”Bye,” Harry repeats through a laugh. ”Work on monday.”

”Work on monday,” Louis confirms, hands shoved into his pockets. ”Looking forward to it. Seeing you.”

He’s this perfect mixture of harsh bad boy and the sweetest, kindest person Harry has the privilege to get to kiss occasionally.

He turns his head down when he blushes. ”Me too. I like seeing you.” 

Louis backs away, still smiling, then turns and walks down the echoing stairs. He throws a glance up at Harry and Harry’s still watching him as he leaves. 

He shuts the door and deflates against it, eyes on the ceiling and a huge smile plastered over his face. His heart feels huge in his chest. 

God, he really, really likes this boy. 

 

 

 

When they meet eyes across the floor, it feels like Louis’ eyes are back to showing a hundred and one emotions again. Like he’s trying to pull Harry over to him by the power of his stare, those damn eyes so hungry and so strikingly blue.

Then Harry remembers how he’s sitting right where they had sex. On the desk in front of him, that is, when Harry was bent over it and whining about his daddy. There’s a buttplug still hidden in one of his drawers. 

Cool. Cool cool cool. 

Focusing on work proves difficult, but he thinks he can blame it on the holiday sloth still clinging on, making everyone a bit slow, even the people he has to talk to on the phone. It’s like everyone had a chocolate too many. Harry’s very guilty of this too. His mum bought a stack of his and his sister’s shared favourite and they went to war for who would have the majority of them (Harry totally won). 

Liam rolls across the floor to him in his office chair as Harry’s very busy doodling song lyrics in his notebook. 

”Night end well?” 

Harry covers the page with his arm, reading _”steal my blood and steal my heart, whatever it takes to get you off”_ , which is clearly the most classy thing he could ever be caught fantasizing about and the melody keeps stubbornly rolling through his mind as he tries to snap back to reality. 

_I’m your bitch, you’re my bitch. Boom, boom_. 

He blinks rather owlishly. ”Huh?”

”New Year’s?” Liam furrows his thick puppy brows. His pecs strain against his white shirt, and okay maybe Harry’s a bit obsessive about his muscles but if anything should be made illegal it’s fucking _this_. Detain this man. ”Ni said you had some boy trouble. Didn’t get the deets.”

Harry’s eyes widen and he leans forward quickly. ”Shush!” he wheezes. ”He’s right over there!”

Liam smirks and crosses his arms over his chest. ”Why whisper about him, man?” he questions bemusedly. ”Thought you were a thing now? That night at the dinner and all, people kept asking me if they’d missed something while you were snogging each other’s faces off.”

Harry sighs. He’s not sure what to say about it because nothing will ever make sense. ”I don’t know. It’s just uh, kind of weird.” He scrunches his brow. ”Can we talk later?”

”Oh! Right.” Liam zips his lips. ”Work. Focus. Got you.”

He winks, finger guns him, then rolls back on his chair. Harry stares a bit more after him, a bit dumbstruck, then shakes his head and looks back at his notes, grabs his pencil. 

He adds _”In my bones and in my soul, always be in your control”_ in thick, scribbly lines and some frustrated love hearts to go. It’s like he’s 14 again writing about his crush on his school desk. His locker was quite the work of art as well. What can he say, he’s a walking love poem, just waiting to be read. Likes some good music too, he does. 

Which, well. The song is probably ironic, what with it being quite gender stereotypical and the singer calling themselves a bitch, and Harry is all about the female empowerment element that comes with that type of irony.

But. 

He does want to make Louis dinner. He could probably do the laundry, make the bed, tuck the corners in. Whatever else the song suggests to make him a neat little housewife. 

Getting ahead of ourselves, are we?

He looks for Louis, who meets his eyes two seconds later, all from across the room where he’s just entered with a colleague. It’s like they always sense it in each other and then they just sort of. Stare. Harry chews his bottom lip distractedly, notices Louis visibly gulp as his eyes drift to his lips. 

At least he doesn’t drool. (At least he doesn’t think that he drools.)

When Louis disappears with the colleague, Harry decides to start checking off his to-do list for the day, which starts with booking some train tickets. Maybe he won’t lose his job today either. Might just lose his mind though. Might have done already. Can’t be sure about things like that these days. 

He dreads lunch, and he dreads it because he doesn’t want to have to explain to either Niall or Liam his situation. He shouldn’t out Louis on being like, not-out. Not that they can relate, not that even Harry can, but that’s probably pretty shit, as a certain wise man he knows would say. 

Then again, what difference does it make? Honestly. They all saw them kissing and made no remarks, Liam said himself. In all senses of the word, he already is pretty out. They both are. In all senses of the word, in everyone else’s minds, they’re pretty much already boyfriends. 

His worrying is all in vain in the end, because for some reason lunch is instead spent talking about how Liam got laid. Apparently it’s a huge victory, like he’s won a medal, like an actual olympics-level type medal of cred. Harry appreciates this. He appreciates Liam’s ability to finally be able to pick someone up while drunk off his face. 

Because they don’t seem to get any room to discuss Harry’s love life then, as Niall’s briefly follow, a vague update on the girl he’s been seeing. Then it’s back to the office. Back to pining. Back to horribleness. 

There’s a post-it note stuck on top of his open notebook when Harry returns. His heart jumps, thinks his boss or someone else has found his love-song-scribbles and he’s about to be blackmailed like in _Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda_ before he recognizes the small, rounded, blue ink handwriting. 

_”Wanna date again ?”_

And then underneath it, smaller, written in Harry’s pencil: _”I’ll listen to that thanks:)”_ , clearly referring to his sexual frustration anthem. 

God take him now. Seriously, for fuck’s sake, end all this suffering right now. 

He collapses back in his seat, tears off and crumbles his notebook page and tosses it in the bin. He slips Louis’ note into his jeans pocket. As if it isn’t already memorized and photocopied into his brain. As if he’d actually forget to text him back a confirmation, with the obligatory resist for several exclamation points, probably in caps, with a dozen love heart emojis and the peach and the eggplant and a declaration of his undying love for him. 

As if he’ll be able to ever stop thinking about him. 

 

 

 

The café is playing this old indie tune he can’t quite place the name of when he steps foot inside the next evening. A bell pings above his head and he sweeps his eyes across the room for a hottie in a denim jacket. Actually, make that _his_ denim-wearing hottie, thanks very much. 

It’s like a weird punch in the stomach sometimes when he sees him, but in the best kind of way. He smiles at him, gives a little wave from the corner of the shop with the yellow street light sifting through, and his sleeve is rolled up over his heavily tattooed forearms and he’s just like, _too_ hot, right? And Harry just feels _too many things_. He kind of can’t believe he’s lucky enough to get to spend time with him like this at all. 

And he knows Louis’ really trying this time. Admittedly, the hangover-curing bit those two days ago was the sweetest thing ever, honestly so cute, but not very romantic with the grease (but maybe with the Grease) and the foreign people yelling at each other in the kitchen. A dinner date at a little alternative café, however. Romantic novelesque. And also, very public. Like a bit of a statement. 

Wow wow wow. 

He walks over to his table, suddenly insecure in his cream-coloured jumper and ripped jeans, half his hair in a bun on the top of his head because he couldn’t really bother but he still wanted to look cute. He’s not sure if he failed or not. 

Louis’ big eyes drinking him in as he slips into the seat opposite him says quite the opposite, though. 

”Wow,” he breathes. _Same_. 

”Hi,” Harry greets back, tucks some hair behind his ear. Right so why is he still most definitely acting 14 with a crush on the cutest boy in school and not his actual 21? Does anyone ever grow up when it comes to acting normal around attractive people? ”Wow to you too.”

If Louis was a person that blushed, he’d be blushing so hard. ”Sorry, it’s just, you look…” He shakes it off and starts over. ”Hey. Hi. So nice to see you.”

Harry covers his mouth when he giggles. ”You too. It’s been too long.”

”A whole hour,” Louis says, nodding. ”And you had time to run home and do your hair.”

And shower. And get intoxicating perfume. He might be wearing a little bit of mascara but it’s not like a lady shares her beauty secrets. ”It took like two seconds.”

”Worth every one of them.”

Harry leans his head on his hand, still smiling. He can physically feel his heart in his chest. Thumping, swelling. ”Flattered.”

Louis shrugs easily. He’s still looking at him, and Harry knows because he can’t stop looking at him either. 

”Mission accomplished,” Louis murmurs.

He passes him the menu when Harry starts beaming a ridiculous amount. 

Dinner is easy, with jokes like Louis threatening to shove the breadsticks into his non-existent-purse and leave when Harry admits he’s never heard a Lifehouse song, after Harry had been sat heart-eyeing his chest piece swirling up over the collar of his t-shirt making him look like a sexy, sexy lumberjack, somehow, which had him explain what it read and the meaning behind it. Harry’s just got a star outline tattooed on his inner arm like a proper tramp stamp, hoping he never ever has to share that information with the world, and no less with Louis. 

There were quiet bits as well, but comfortable ones, not stressing about saying stuff just for the sake of saying stuff. Then there was Harry touching Louis’ hand to ask about the numbers on his fingers (he wouldn’t tell), and touching feet under the table, first on accident, because Harry’s got giraffe limbs to be fucking fair and he needs his leg space. 

Then maybe not so much on accident. 

”So what you’re saying is,” Louis starts, deep in thought, stabs the last bite of his ciabatta with his fork and Harry covers a snicker from escaping with his hand, ”you took a year off uni, after _one term_?”

It’s over an hour into the dinner already, and he’s elbows-deep in the ridicule and banter. He loves it. Truly, madly, deeply, he loves being the center of his attention. 

”It was boring,” Harry whines, tilting his head. He pouts when Louis chuckles at him. ”I just, I dunno. It didn’t feel like I was meant to be there. Don’t think I picked the right major.”

”And you already switched?”

”I went to like _three_ psychology lessons.” Harry rolls his eyes to brush it off. He’s a bit over this story. He’s went it over to himself in his head too many times. ”They were nice about it. Had a contact.”

”I _see_ ,” Louis smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. He glides his finger over the brim of his wine glass. ”A _contact_.”

Thing is, it’s exactly like that. So Harry can’t even think of a way to joke about it without having to lie, which he’s terrible at. Like professionally terrible. So he just looks off out the window as Louis pops the last bit of sandwich into his mouth. 

”I’d rather be doing something with music anyway,” he says, and it’s earnest. But he’d also rather be doing anything Louis is doing than going to class with a bunch of dickheads. (He’d rather be what Louis is doing.) ”So. I am.”

He looks back in front of himself. The lights shine delicately on Louis’ face, makes him look so gorgeous when his eyelashes flutter and he smiles. Looking so genuinely happy to just, be there. Harry must say something about this, something silly like ”do you know you’re gorgeous” because instead of coming up with a witty, probably sexual retort, Louis shies away momentarily, looks down so that his eyelashes cast long shadows over his chiseled cheekbones making him look, well. Even more fucking gorgeous. It’s outrageous at the very least. 

”And you’re fucking stunning,” he replies after another beat of hesitation. 

Harry feels tipsy from more than just the white wine when they fall into the back of a taxi 30 minutes later. 

Louis asks the driver to turn up the radio and it’s something by Julia Michaels, his usual late-night indulgence, but maybe that’s not important, because as Harry sits concentrating on figuring the song name out Louis cups his cheek, turns his head towards him and kisses him. 

Harry draws a sharp breath but kisses him back, maybe too much but Louis takes it, mimics the hardness and desperation, lets him lean in over him a bit and press him against the fogged up window as the song drowns out any noises between them and the driver. 

Noises such as when Harry pulls back with a smack. ”It’s _Uh Huh_.”

Louis furrows his brow and laughs. ”What the fuck are you on about?”

”Yeah, now. Listen.” Harry bobs his finger in the air to the beat. ” _’Cause I’m getting some kind of shake without you_ ,” he sings softly in a high tone, grins at Louis’ raised brows and moves in to nibble at his neck. ” _Uh huh._ ”

He kisses down to his collarbones, runs his fingers over the swirly Lifehouse lyrics and feels Louis’ breath deepen with his hand gripping his hair, tugging it but not to move him away, and Harry knows he’s listening to the lyrics welling up in the space as it describes every fucking thing he’s feeling. 

Which he doesn’t fully know what it is at this point; maybe they are moving too fast, maybe it’s not a good idea that Louis’ hand is currently under his shirt clawing at his lower back while Harry works in a love bite on the outer end of his collarbone. They’re dating backwards, aren’t they, and maybe Louis is too close all of a sudden. 

_But I think that it’s my body wanting it the most_

He moans when Louis’ fingertips slip under his waistband. 

They stop at Harry’s apartment minutes later, stumble up the stairs laughing and clinging to each other. Not even drunk, just a little too happy. If there even is a thing as _too_ happy. Probably not. But maybe. If there is, there must be a thing such as _Louis-happy_ too, which is clearly the synonym, or the superlative. 

Happy, happier, Louis-happy. 

And Louis just happens to be cupping him around his front when Harry attempts unlocking his door, which makes him drop his key, all oopsie daisy. So. 

He bends forward slowly, well aware what’s happening when his ass brushes Louis’ crotch. Lingers. Wiggles a little. Yoga paid off with this limberness. He hears a hiss from behind as Louis’ hands tighten their grip on his hips, digs so hard into him they might just bruise. 

No complaints. There’s been a severe lack of that these days. 

He stands up again, key in hand, biting his lip through a smirk as he successfully unlocks his door and Louis is half-hard behind him. Nice. Very fucking nice. 

He steps inside, leaves the light off and sloppily kicks off his boots. When he turns around, Louis’ still in the hallway, looks uncertain with his glorious dick straining against his jeans. 

”Is this a good idea?”

God he’s so bloody hot. 

”No,” Harry says through a smile. That’s pretty simple. Basic math. ”Do you want to get off or not?”

Louis chuckles breathily, adjusts his dick in his pants as if he almost thought Harry hadn’t noticed. As if he didn’t just _make it happen_. On _purpose_. ”I don’t want you to- I mean, I just thought-”

”You can have a boner in the taxi,” Harry says, educationally slow, ”if you want to.”

Louis rolls his eyes and steps inside. He closes the door and Harry pushes him up against it just as Louis pulls him towards him. 

Now, Harry’s not used to being on top, if this even counts as being on top. Wouldn’t mind riding a hot hunky guy but kind of feels weird about having so much control. Louis doesn’t seem very in the mood for talking either, like he’s testing the waters, despite currently very obviously grabbing Harry’s ass and grinding carefully against him. 

As if maybe he’s scared of hurting him again. 

Wow. That’s a weird thought. 

Harry pushes it aside and unbuttons Louis’ jeans. Louis moans softly against his lips, sounds that go straight to Harry’s own cock but he decides that if he can’t be told what to do, he won’t make the assumption to start touching himself either. Maybe this is a test. Louis comes first, figuratively and probably literally. 

He shoves his hand down Louis’ jeans, pulls him out as Louis grips him tighter, bites down on his lip as Harry whimpers and starts pumping him, slowly all along the shaft. When Louis throws his head back with a moan he seizes the moment and spits into his hand, jerks him off faster.

”God,” Louis gasps, adam’s apple bobbing, looking so delicious that Harry attaches his lips to his exposed neck again. ”Fuck. Thanks, baby. Missed that. Missed that so much.”

”Missed it too,” Harry whispers, then scrunches his eyes shut. Wishes he hadn’t admitted it. At least he didn’t call him daddy again or something. 

But Louis bucks his hips forward, stutters out a throaty moan. ”Fuck,” he swears, voice husky and so, so gone already. He really did miss those noises, that look on his face. ”Baby, doing so well. You’re so good at that. The best.”

Harry screws his hand around the head, jerking fast to the slick sounds of his pre-cum. God, he wants that in him. In any way possible, he just really, really wants Louis to fuck him again. 

He wants to explore, wants to see how many ways he can make him feel good. Wants to ride him, sit on his face, do it pressed to a mirror, have Louis bend him over his sofa as he whines about how daddy needs to do it harder and he’d come for the second time without even being touched, because that’s just how much he affects him. 

He’s leaning his forehead against the crook of his neck, listening to their ragged breath as he grows more and more horny and needy and white noise is soaring in his ears and he considers dropping to his knees, swallow him down just to get to hear some more praise, when Louis draws a sharp breath and comes. 

Harry watches with big, glossy eyes as his pretty dick pulses in his hand when he jerks him sloppily through the aftershocks, collects the cum in his hand. What a midnight snack. Nope. Bad Harry. Gross. 

Louis takes a moment before his eyes fall back on him, dark and searching, lips parted. Like he doesn’t know what to say. Harry looks back at him for a beat, then looks down. 

He tucks him back in tenderly while Louis catches his breath. Then Louis clears his throat. ”I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. 

”You don’t have to keep apologizing,” Harry assures him softly; he’ll work this out for them, so what’s the need to? He looks up at him again. ”Or was it for coming before I could? Because, yeah.” He smiles weakly and shrugs. ”Guess I’m talented.”

Louis breathes a laugh. He reaches out for him. ”Should I sort you?”

Harry’s about to reply but Louis properly puts his hand on his hip. 

” _Can_ I?”

Oh my. 

”Bad idea, remember.” Harry taps Louis’ temple, makes his lips tug up a bit. ”I don’t want to be friends with benefits.”

Louis furrows his brow. ”So you define what just happened as…?”

”You treating me to dinner like a princess and me not being able to keep my hands off you.” Harry turns towards the bathroom. It was an anomaly. Utter lack of self control. ”Now allow me to wash off and have a wank in the shower.”

Not sure if drunk, or a bit too comfortable around him. Louis-comfortable. He’s got a date with a dildo. 

Louis leans back with a smirk. ”Can I watch?” 

He might just be falling in love with him all over again. 

Harry looks over his shoulder. ”You can put the key inside and close the door after yourself when you leave,” he corrects light-heartedly, then closes the door to the bathroom. He locks it as an afterthought. 

 

 

 

Back in uni, Harry used to love wearing revealing clothes to lectures just to see how his hot professor would react. 

Loved being daring and mixing in pink and sheer fabrics and the tightest jeans he could fit into when everyone else came rolling into class straight from their beds in grey joggers and baggy t-shirts. And the looks, oh the looks. He just loved hearing Ben stutter when he glanced up at him playing with his pencil by his lips, putting the end of it in his mouth, soft lips closing around it, eyes locked at him, always infatuated by him. 

You’d think people would be over the name-calling and gossiping at that age. They aren’t. People are always strange. 

So, turning really sweet and pliant whenever in the presence of his economics professor earned Harry a little reputation. And like okay so, maybe it was true he managed to get a little special treatment from it. Some personal tutoring in exchange for a date night with red wine and classical music. Overlooking mix-ups of names and theories in tests in exchange for a handjob after class when the last person had left the room. 

He didn’t like being called a slut when it wasn’t in a playful or look-what-you’re-doing-to-me aroused type of way by Ben. It kind of felt shitty being called it as an insult by people he barely knew. 

So he searched the comfort in the one friend he’d made those past months wrapped up in a man twice his age. But Ben didn’t seem very invested when Harry suggested they reveal their relationship. Not even when he explained he wanted to show them all it was genuine, and he wasn’t just doing it for the grades, wasn’t just being a slut for his own good. He did care for him. He cared a lot. He assumed Ben did too. 

And so then, when Harry came back after the winter break and Ben was gone, when he’d quit after absolutely no last word to Harry and Harry didn’t have a phone number, going to university was just. Really, really boring. Horrible, actually. Because after the initial stress and confusion and trying to find out where he’d fucked off to, there was no excitement in going in anymore, no excitement in picking outfits or wondering what Ben would say to him today. And people take years off all the time, don’t they? Maybe not after one term, but. Sure. People get a job, or travel, try and work their shit out or get into more shit than before. Or all of the above. 

He looked him up on facebook before he decided on it. Ben was married. To a woman, no less, so Harry packed his bag and left his dorm. 

Now Harry’s responding to business emails wearing a pink choker. 

It’s a cute little crushed velvet one, with a tiny gold heart charm dangling from it; Niall said it looks like a cat collar. It goes fine with the light pink shirt he’s picked out anyways, and the washed-out black jeans with the obligatory suede boots. It’s been a boring enough day, but he’s still on a high from last night. As he should be. The outfit is inspired by his general mood. 

He hasn’t seen Louis around yet, but he’s ready whenever he decides to walk past. Keeps leaning over his desk to reach for his stapler or putting the end of his pencil into his mouth. 

Just in case. Just keeping things fun. 

Thing is, he doesn’t miss Ben. He’s not sure he ever did. Ben can choke. He just misses what he made him feel, and with Louis, this sensation is like five billion times better. 

Plus, his fashion sense has improved significantly since last year. 

Liam makes swimming motions in the air when he rolls over in his chair. Oh my god. 

”Ready to give the deets?”

Harry smiles, can’t contain it at all, before he sighs heavily. ”Honestly, man, I don’t know what to tell you,” he says, pretty exasperatedly. ”Everything is just kind of weird.”

Liam holds his hands up. ”Wow, wow, easy. Thought it was just sexy bits.” He tilts his head. ”Something bad happen?”

”Yes. No.” Harry bobs his head like a puppet, weighing between the options. ”Just. Gay stuff, right? You wouldn’t know.”

Liam looks ready to burst out laughing. He leans in close. ”Are you aware I’ve had the hots for Zayn bloody Malik for months now?”

Harry’s scandalized. He even puts his hand on his chest in shock. 

Liam nods, looks around himself to make sure no one’s eavesdropping or maybe worse, if Zayn bloody Malik is present. ”Yeah, he, uh… He’s fit. It’s weird.” He might even blush the tiniest bit. ”I get it, is the point. Well, maybe not, but probably, if you’ll just try to tell me.”

Harry will have to process this information another time. And get him to tell him if they’ve done something. Maybe they should double date, or maybe Zayn’s just too dark and brooding for Louis’ over the top sweet bad boy persona. He might have put chewing gum on his chair one too many times. 

”Louis isn’t out,” Harry whispers, and Liam arches a brow. ”He’s mortified.”

”But he kissed you in front of everyone?”

”Yeah, I know, I guess… I don’t know. Spur of the moment. Thought he could blame it on the _mistletoes_.” 

Liam hums. ”Bit to drink too, maybe, made him brave.” He looks upwards and thinks. ”He got so weird when I came to get you, do you remember? Like maybe he realised.”

Harry remembers. He narrows his eyes like Liam is his Wild West cowboy enemy. ”You called us love birds.”

”You _were_ ,” Liam argues. ”You seemed all happy and content, man. I’m so sad it didn’t work out.”

Harry furrows his brows and picks up his pencil, fiddles with it mindlessly. ”It is working out. Kind of? In a weird way. I think we’re dating backwards?”

”Meaning?”

”Meaning.” He drops the pencil. ”We started out heavy, casual, and now we’re taking it slow. Easing in, seeing if he can even like, do it. The dating thing. I’m just waiting for him to be comfortable enough to be public until we go to another base.”

Liam leans back with an impressed chuckle, eyes big with glee. ”Oh man, you have him wrapped around your finger!”

Harry smiles through a fond roll of his eyes. 

”Is that for him then?” Liam continues, flicks the gold heart on his choker. 

”Kind of yeah,” Harry smirks coyly, plays with the charm. ”I like to look good for my man.”

”Oh he thinks you look just sterling,” Liam nods, grinning. ”He’s been staring right at you.”

”What.” Harry grips the armrests of his chair and does a 360°. But Louis’ back is turned to him now, head bowed down over papers on a desk. Harry turns his head to Liam and whisper-screams. ” _Why didn’t you tell me he was here?!_ ”

Liam zips his lips. He throws the imaginary key in Harry’s bin and rolls away. 

When Harry looks back, Louis is in fact staring right at him, props his papers against the desk, once, twice. He’s gritting his teeth when he leaves the room in the strangest posture. 

Harry crosses his legs and his thigh presses against his throbbing member. 

Should there ever be a time to start defying physics, he’d like to sink through the floor right about now. What the fuck did _that_ mean?

He doesn’t see him for the rest of the day, a clearly very badly planned trip to put in a sound system or something, probably. Work stuff. Duty calling. Nothing personal. Harry keeps fiddling with the choker all until it’s time to go home. 

He keeps writing texts that he erases too. They vary between being mad, to being worried he hasn’t said a word, to saying he forgives him and can they please be together whether it’s open or not, whether it makes Harry feel like more than a tool than he already did. He just wants to be with him. He just. Wants. Him. 

It’s when he’s been collapsed in his sofa watching _Love, Actually_ for the past hour and a half that he thinks of something that doesn’t sound too lame. 

_”You’re okay right?”_

Yeah, no. Still pretty lame. 

The reply only takes about a minute. _”Just chilling in me boxers love”_

Harry rolls his eyes (what he would give to be there cuddling to his chest, tracing his sexy swirly lumberjack chest tattoo and listening to his heart beat, jesus blooming christ).

_”Not what I meant”_

It’s not until Daniel is rushing Sam to the airport to catch up with who he thinks is the love of his life that he gets another message. 

_”Wish you’d stop tempting me”_  
_”I guess ?”_  
_”It’s not gonna work out any faster”_

Harry frowns at the screen. Then he frowns at the TV one. 

He’s not sure what to say to that at first, but he knows Louis can see his tell-tale _Read_ with the time ticking away. Given that he even looked at the conversation again. Given that he’s even half as lame as Harry is. 

Sam has caught up with the girl. Then she leaves on the plane. 

_”I can do whatever I want good sir”_

Especially when Louis’ leading him on all the time. It’s just nice to feel desired every once in a while?

He shuts the movie off and goes to brush his teeth. He knows there’s a happy ending for even the gross character anyway. He’s seen it about a dozen times too many. 

He puts his hair in a top bun, instantly has stubborn locks of hair springing out of it, then washes his face. He strips out of his clothes and crawls into bed. It’s not even 10 pm. 

_”Thanks for the eye candy then princess”_

Harry groans and turns over. 

 

 

 

Louis does treat him like quite the eye candy in his button-up unbuttoned unprofessionally low, alternating between eye-fucking him and then sending amused glances at the clip he’s pinned half his hair back with. But then again Louis has his munchable biceps as well as that chest piece very much on on display in his current t-shirt choice, so. 

There’s mutually shared stares, for sure, and Harry can just hope Louis’ stomach twists in the same way, the flips and swirls like a warm, wet towel being rung out. That the way his colleague has to snap his fingers in front of his eyes to get his attention back is because he’s imagining Harry bent over that desk, or on his knees, how he’d have begged to give that handjob two days ago had Louis not so willingly agreed. 

Hot and dangerous. That’s what the air feels like. If looks could kill is one thing, but if looks could make you spread your legs and surrender all you’ve got...

Well. 

He’s just a bit over it, is the thing. He wants him and he wants him badly; it’s so long overdo. He’s not sure if Louis maybe had a hidden agenda all along to build him up, keep pushing and pushing until he’s so horny out of his mind he’ll just end up budging by his will and then Louis will have it his way. His way being, to stay in his fear that’s comfort all the same, ignore Harry’s suggestions and pleads and keep dodging the bullet; running from it, more like. Keep it casual and non-committed so that he by all means can ignore him for weeks and hook up with someone else in the meantime and still he’ll somehow get the boy. 

It’s like in a fairy tale if the bad guy would be getting the princess. Or rather prince. Or, well, no. The princess. Harry’s definitely a princess. 

Louis already has it his way anyway, if he thinks about it. Harry failed his mission to live in celibacy after all, if only to a certain extent. It counts. Despite it all, Louis’ getting no-strings-attached favours, and Harry’s not getting any favours. Maybe he’s just leading him on with the dates and that. Maybe he promised to change and never will. And right now, Harry’s acting just how Louis wants him to act. 

Truth is Harry could give up everything if he asked him to. But just he’s trying very hard not to. 

He just misses him. A bit. Quite a lot. Misses when he’d at least _talk_ to him, even as pals at work. When each dialogue was a victory, slowly working the courage up and slowly realising Louis seemed to like spending time with him too, making excuses to get to sit with him at lunch or not-so-accidentally run into each other. He misses when they weren’t an arguing non-couple. Misses when they were bordering on being an actual couple. 

He still enjoys it, is the thing. Enjoys seeing how deeply affected Louis is when Harry does his pencil-biting moves and looks him straight in the eye from under his eyelashes. Totally casual. Totally just caught him at the right moment. 

Then he disappears for the rest of his day. 

He does get a text, when he’s on lunch and Niall is explaining the importance of guitar strings. _”Meet at my house ?”_

Harry almost laughs. He twists to look for him, but he’s nowhere in the cafeteria. Curious, that. He looks back at his phone and chews his lip in thought. 

”Boy trouble?” Liam asks when Niall takes a break to sip his water. 

” _The_ boy,” Harry clarifies, which should suffice as an explanation. The boy that means trouble. 

”The _dumb_ boy,” Niall fills in, and Harry smiles appreciatively. Bless them. They get it. 

”That’s the one.”

He remembers suddenly he needs to get Liam with Zayn somehow, so he can have dumb boy troubles too, mixed with those occasional sweet moments because he’s certain Zayn is just lovely beneath his shell and the all black outfits. 

Maybe now is a bad time to bring it up though. But when is it not bad?

_”Funny”_ he writes back and puts his phone down. 

”So I think I might be getting me one of them acoustic ones you plug into an amplifier and have it with steel strings,” Niall says through a mouthful of whatever concoction his lunchbox consists of, clearly planning his whole musical career which is currently non-existent. ”You reckon?” 

”How will you play that sweet acoustic guitar by the campfires though?” Liam pouts. 

”Anyway, here’s Wonderwall,” Harry says in as exaggerated Irish as is possible. 

”More like _I love you, bitch_ ,” Liam quotes, grinning at Niall. ” _I ain’t ever gonna stop loving you_ ,” he strums an imaginary air-guitar, ” _bitch_.”

Niall blushes furiously as Harry snickers. He’d thought about it. He so had. 

Harry’s afternoon is spent scanning and organising files until he thinks he might just be sick of both papers and computers. When it’s a minute to break time, the last one for the day when the winter-sun has already set, Louis knocks on his desk. 

”Did you know there’s a balcony?”

Harry didn’t. 

The balcony, as it turns out, is through a door that says _No Entry_ which they easily disappear through, down a fluorescent lit corridor and then Louis’ pushing open a glass door. There’s already two guys from probably the floor below them stood leaning against the rickety railing sharing a cigarette but Louis gives them this weird, strong look while he cups his own cigarette now dangling from his lips, so that they give each other a silent glance before one nods to the door and they leave. 

Harry’s kind of at a loss. He should use Louis to get into clubs when he’s not on the list. Just death stare their way in. 

”That’s… handy,” Harry supposes. 

Louis fights against the wind to light his cigarette. ”Sure.” It’s bloody January, though, so granted it’s too cold and windy, so granted he ends up pulling his white T-shirt out and lighting his cigarette underneath it. Harry almost screams because, hello fire hazard, holy shit God don’t let this lovely man burn to death. But also because, tummy. Wonderfully pudgy, tanned Tommo tummy. ”Bullshit wind,” he mutters through a breath of smoke.

”Yeah, screw the wind,” Harry huffs bemusedly. He leans against the railing and Louis’ eyes fall on him, cheeks hollowing for another drag. 

”How are you?”

Harry shrugs, but smiles coyly all the same. He’s here, after all. He’s with Louis. ”Fine.”

”Cool.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow, and Louis snorts. 

”Soz,” he says. ”Think I need to get my rep back up after being so emotional these days. That wee little mental breakdown the other week.”

Harry stubs his toe against a water-damaged rug. A fair attempt at wholesomeness around the littered cigarette butts. ”Well, it was nice. And you’re fine.”

”My breakdown was nice?”

Harry looks up at him with a small smile. ”You know what I mean.”

He should know. He should know Harry’s kind of still really expecting him to make plans of what they discussed. 

Louis shrugs. He wraps an arm around his middle, huffs out a cloud; not just from the cigarette. It’s just too unnecessarily cold. 

So they’re not gonna talk about it. 

_Cool._

They’re at the back of the building but there’s streets below them, cars rumbling past with lights dancing across Louis’ face. He takes another drag and taps ash off, and Harry watches as it trickles down on the pavement. ”Aren’t you cold?”

His eyes dart up to Louis’ face, but he can’t read him. Just seems to be gritting his teeth from the freezing temperature and honestly, Harry’s kind of trembling. His shirt is so unbuttoned, and his ears are probably going so red. God. ”Obviously not.”

But Harry is kind of the worst liar and the words shake with his chattering teeth. Louis walks up to him, stands in front of him with his feet outside of Harry’s perched together ones. He puts the hand holding the cigarette on the railing behind him and Harry feels his heat. 

”I hope you’re not mad at me still,” he mumbles, one hand moving up Harry’s arm. ”I’ve been trying to keep it together. Swear. Trying me hardest.”

Harry looks from where their crotches are inches apart to his hand on his body. ”Oh you’ve tried, have you?” 

Louis gives him a long look. Harry almost breaks. Smiles instead. 

”Well I’m not mad,” he says, more earnestly. ”I mean, you can stop tempting me too, you know? That’d be nice.”

”I mean the in-the-closet ordeal.”

”Oh, right.” Because harassing him via text is fine, as well as molesting him with his eyes without sorting the pit of the problem. This guy. He’d hate him if he didn’t bloody like him so much. ”It’s the same. I mean, I get it now. I just sort of wish you would have said you were like, scared, before we started, instead of trying to repress it.”

Louis quickly darts his eyes up. ”I’m not scared.” His brow even furrows a bit. ”I’m not scared of anything. Who would be afraid of love?”

It’s Harry’s turn to shrug. ”Dunno.” Then his mouth twists up, an own amused furrow in his brow. ”Did you just-”

”Shut up.”

Louis kisses him, hand on the hinge of his jaw, the other hand faintly holding his lower back. Harry sighs; it’s so soft, so kind. So not used to that still. Sure is used to them butterflies, though. That heat spreading throughout his body so that maybe his teeth won’t chatter and snap Louis’ wonderful lips off or something. 

That wouldn’t be cute. 

Louis pulls away just as softly as he leaned in, eyes staying closed for a beat longer than they have to be. 

”It’s not New Year’s anymore,” Harry murmurs over the sound of a car soughing past, suddenly realising he’s put his hands behind Louis’ back as well. Has his fingers intertwined to keep him right where he is. ”What are you gonna blame these _mad bants_ on?”

”Insanity,” Louis says too quickly, but there’s this tiny hint of sarcasm. ”And some very special homoerotic feelings.”

” _Erotic_ ,” Harry echoes with surprise but overall, quite pleased. He lowers his eyebrows. ” _Special?_ ”

”Yup.” Louis suddenly squeezes his bum and Harry flinches. ”Make me feel all sorts of things, you do.”

”You’ll give me a cigarette burn,” Harry exclaims in falsetto (or, as high as that voice will go), knowing very well Louis’ still holding the cigarette pinched between the fingers of his left hand, and he fights the urge to slap his arms away. 

Louis grins and leans forward, speaks against his neck. ”Would you be into that?”

Now Harry has to fight the urge to _moan_ , just gasps instead. ”I don’t- no.”

”You thought about it.”

”I just... No. No, that’d scar, wouldn’t it? Creepy.”

”Hot.” Louis kisses his neck, and Harry’s knees nearly buckle. ”Written _mine_ all over…”

Oh, fuck it. 

Harry emits a tiny moan, grips him tighter. Louis’ hand moves around his cheek to his hair, tugs on a lock a bit, knows just how good that makes him feel as well as it gets Harry’s head tilted to the side, gives him more space to suck a faint love bite. 

Harry enjoys a good three more kisses or so, enjoys the hotness pooling in his tummy as Louis holds him just right. 

It hits him, then. It’s not right. None of it is right. 

He furrows his brow, opens his eyes and is met with the dark night sky. He wishes he could see the stars even in the city. ”So why can I be yours but you can’t be mine?”

And suddenly, he’s just kind of _depressed_.

Louis tenses up a bit. He sighs, leans his forehead against the crook of Harry’s neck. ”I don’t know, love.” He noses against the collar of his shirt. ”I don’t know.”

”Isn’t it time we, like… _fix_ that?”

He thinks Louis might lean back and meet his eyes, just to look judgemental, maybe leave him another snide comment to make Harry laugh and lighten the mood and it’ll be fine for another minute of false hope. But he doesn't. 

”We were gonna _try_...” Harry murmurs on, can’t deny he practically heard wedding bells at those words, that night when they left the office to join the party, when they were giddy from the sex and what he thought were true feelings. 

It felt like he’d finally won him over when Louis promised him that. And now it kind of just feels like he’s miles away again. 

”I know you’re trying, the dates and all, but. Don’t you want to come out to your friends and stuff? Properly? Like, I just…” He stops to let Louis protest, but he doesn’t. ”I don’t want to be a secret. You know this. You can’t keep running from it. And I don’t want you to feel weird.”

His hands move from his body. ”Harry-”

”You’re in pain,” Harry states, the psychology drop-out, ”and I won’t have it be that way.”

Louis is moving away. Of course he’s moving away. 

Won’t even meet his eyes when he does, just stares dead behind him, tapping the last ash off his cigarette. Harry can’t help but feel the cold, gripping sadness unfold in his stomach. Imagine being so scared of your own feelings. Feelings that make you the happiest. 

He wants to hold him, stroke his hair, force him to cry out on his shoulder because god dammit why does he think he has to keep it all inside? 

But apparently, despite the sad clenching sensation, our instincts make us either turn to sadness or anger. So Harry rolls his eyes instead. Puts up a harder exterior than he actually thinks he should be capable of and looks off to the streets, the traffic, the people. They’re practically in public. What difference does it make?

_No one knows what it’s like, behind blue eyes._

And Harry realises then how all the apologies, every single one, has been because Louis won’t change a thing. See, it’s not an apology for something he did; it’s for what he keeps doing. He was never going to fix anything. He really was just leading him on. Harry wouldn’t give less of a shit about dating in secret anymore, it’s just the fact that he promised, and it was all just a lie. 

Louis stops walking backwards only when he’s stopped by the door. ”I’ll, ehm.” He drops his cigarette, focuses his eyes on crushing it with the toe of his trainer. ”No. Sorry.”

”No?”

Louis swallows thickly and blinks. ”No.” He presses the handle of the door down. ”I’ll text you. Have a, uh. Shit. Have a better one, alright?” He meets his eyes only when he lifts his hand in a stiff wave. He looks so small. ”Bye.”

And he leaves, and Harry is alone. 

Louis isn’t alone though. Not in this, he isn’t. Hell, he has Harry, and co-workers that clearly didn’t get pissed off over them sloppily making out, and family and friends that should support him just the same no matter if he likes boys or not. He just has to get to the point of letting them know. 

Why won’t he accept that he doesn’t have to prove himself all the time, doesn’t have to be tough and independent, that it’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes? It’s fine to be scared. 

Harry misses when life was only as complicated as wondering whether Louis could do him over a desk or not. Good times. Good, wonderful times. 

He kicks the railing. Hurts his toes a little. Because everything is just so fucking great like that. 

 

 

 

Maybe uni wasn’t so bad. It’s just been half a year, but maybe he should ask if he can start again. Start the course over with the new set of students having joined after Harry was long gone. Or a new one altogether. 

He avoids Louis and everyone else as he ponders about it. He just doesn’t want to deal with this anymore. Can’t deal with seeing Louis and knowing everyone saw them hook up, that everyone knows how into him Harry is, but how it’s not even real and he can’t have him. How much that bloody hurts. 

Maybe he can leave here for a year, then. Come back next year, and it’ll all have been settled. Harry will have more of a proper education and feel slightly less like a hopeless teenager, and they could start over. He should for his own sake. Maybe Louis will be braver. Maybe he’ll have grown stronger. 

Or maybe he’ll have moved on from Harry; maybe Harry will have moved on from him. 

Lucky thinking, the last one. Hilarious. 

He almost runs straight into Louis at the lockers, when he’s trying to quickly leave and Louis wanders like his casual badass self in to get his jacket. Harry’s stomach twists when he sees him, but not in the same way. It feels cold. 

He tilts his head down, lets hair fall in his face as he rushes past, but still sees in the corner of his eye how Louis turns after him. 

”In a hurry?” he asks, cheerful as he is, like nothing ever happened. 

Harry doesn’t know what to say. Regrets it when he sits down on the tube and he wants to tell him everything that’s running through his mind. Ask him to please stop ignoring everything. Please stop doing everything he’s doing to him. 

Louis texts him when he’s cooking himself a bowl of comfort noodles that evening. He’s in baggy joggers and a faded Pink Floyd t-shirt, very luxurious, standing in front of his microwave like he’s the actual personification of the mess that’s been his love life for the past 6 months. He’s not really sure just how long _Make Me Your Queen_ has been on repeat in his earphones, but it’s the only thing his brain can bear listening to right now. 

He has to squint at the brightness of his screen because he’s only got the lamp by the TV on in the dark, silent apartment. 

_”I want to make it up to you”_

And god dammit why is he so sweet? Wonderful? Kind and caring, right when Harry needs him the most? But he can’t allow it. The heartache hiatus means serious business this time. He can’t let him keep leading him on, buttering him up and tasting him when he’s bored; he can’t have it. It’s for his own sake. It’s the year of self care, innit? And Louis messed him up. 

_”I’m quitting the job”_  
_”It doesn’t rlly matter anymore”_

He waits until he sees Louis has read it until he locks his phone, puts it upside down and takes a deep breath. That was that. Easy peasy. 

(Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.)

His microwave pings and he gets his bowl of noodles and makes his way to the sofa. If Louis writes something else he doesn’t hear the notification, busy forking noodles into his mouth and having the song on way too loud. What a dream. It’s like none of his problems are even present. The only tell-tale is that constant wrenching sadness in his chest. 

How can sadness feel so physical? How does biology explain that?

He does hear his doorbell ring though. Maybe not the first time, but definitely when it’s being spammed repeatedly so that he’s sure even the neighbours would hear. And he can’t really deal with people right now. 

He sighs heavily, dumps his empty bowl into the sink then goes to open the door. Checking the peep hole seems pointless. 

He pulls his earphones out and cuts Declan McKenna off mid-sentence of declaring _I can’t help but think that I might maybe not mean nothing to you, babe_. He arches an eyebrow at Louis stood panting before he gets the words out. ”Please don’t.” 

Harry eyes him up and down through the slit in the door where he’s keeping it ajar. He’s like, shaking. ”You ran?”

”I never run,” Louis pants, which means yes. There’s a lot of steps in this stairwell. ”I smoke. I don’t give a shit about life. Or people.”

Harry waits expectantly. 

”Listen, Harry, I do give a shit about you,” he continues between gasps for air. ”Is what I’m trying to say here. I care about you, so much, god so fucking much and it fucking sucks, because I don’t- Shit, why do people do this on a daily? I don’t want to have to care. I don’t want to get wound up, or feel vulnerable, you know? I don’t want to be- hurt? Or feel scared like, you know I’m scared to death and you could tell all along but I just, fuck. I like you so much my heart’s fucking exploding with all these emotions. Not just because I ran, mind, honestly I- but yeah I had to like, run because of them.” He takes a last big breath and drops the hand he’s been holding to his heaving chest. ”Because you can’t leave.”

”Yeah I can,” Harry counters, flicking his eyes away, somehow managing to play unphased by all of this. He can pretend it’s not mostly his terrible outfit choice that makes him want to not open the door fully. He can pretend he’s not completely forgiving him already and isn’t just about ready to pull him inside and give up everything. ”If you’re gonna keep acting ashamed of me, what does it matter if I stay? Like I don’t mean shit? Better keep me off your _reputation_.”

”You’re serious?” Louis asks, bewildered. ”Right now? You’re hearing yourself?”

”Don’t pretend like you don’t know,” Harry seethes. 

”But it’s not-”

”Oh but it _is_.” Harry pulls the door shut. Locks it before Louis can get his hands on the handle. ”Go away. Stop fucking with me.”

”Love,” Louis calls through the door, knocks on it with what seems like slight panic. ”Harry. Love. Please, please don’t.” 

Harry squeezes his eyes shut and holds the handle up when Louis tries to press it down, bumps his shoulder against it and he realises after a moment Harry won’t open again. He gives up the fight and leans his forehead against it. Just totally slumps in defeat. 

Harry watches it through the peep hole, the way it all drains out of him and then the sadness in his eyes, before Harry’s stepping back with his arms wrapped around himself and his heart in his throat. 

”I never wanted to hurt you,” Louis murmurs through the door, alone in the stairwell and talking to seemingly no one. ”Never.”

”Well it’s too late for that,” Harry mutters, rubbing his socked toes together. He furrows his brow and turns away a bit. ”I never wanted to hurt you either, obviously. I like you a whole stupid bunch too, so much but clearly our wishes don’t exactly match up. I can’t change. Neither can you. Sorry you drove over here for nothing.”

Louis doesn’t say anything at first. Harry’s about to walk up and check if he’s even still there, but then hears him shuffle back from leaning against the door, like he’s looking right at it. Right at Harry. 

”I don’t know what else to say but I’m sorry.” There’s a pause. ”Harry, I’m so sorry.”

And that would be the sound of his heart breaking into a million pieces, everyone. 

Harry puts his mouth to the slit in the door, the ray of light coming from the stairwell, and closes his eyes. 

”Go home,” he murmurs. 

Louis doesn’t say anything at first, and Harry refrains from checking on him. He walks away. He knows Louis hears it too, and knows that he’s gone. He puts his earphones back in only when he’s reached his bedroom and curled up under the covers and knows no one said anything else. 

And then the tears come. 

Maybe Louis was right not to get mixed up in emotions. This fucking sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ouch:)) but wait, there’s more!
> 
> (also listen to make me your queen by declan mckenna it a good one)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feelings happen

It’s kind of ironic how wanting to help someone can seemingly absolutely crush them. Surely, there must be some humour in that. Dark, dark humour. Not Harry’s kind of humour, anyway. 

He’s not sure his university will even have him back. Everyone probably knows all about his escapades with his old professor and the benefits of their rendezvous, and even if he’s long gone now he’s sure that could get him into a lot of trouble. 

But facing Louis at work when he knows how much he’s messed them up makes anxiety spike inside of him. Because he spent 6 months pining over him, 6 months trying to be friends when all he wanted was to kiss him, touch him, really get to know him and not just that hard shell he puts on. And he finally had him; Louis was brave enough to open up to him and gave him so much of himself. He did get a little bit of his heart, in the end. He did. 

But Harry was greedy, Louis couldn’t face it. And he threw him away. Maybe they both threw each other away, but at least Louis came back for him, tried to fix it. And Harry turned it down. Just to not keep making the same mistakes, because nothing was going to change. And he’s not sure what hurts the most right now; Louis not managing to be proud of himself, of Harry, of them. Or maybe it’s how he’s had to realise he’s just a piece of shit himself. 

He gets a headache from how much he grits his teeth to fight tears, achy shoulders from walking slouched over, even though he’s all alone. But he totally deserves it, right, because that sad look on Louis’ face? He created that. The same beautiful face he once created smiles on, the lovely voice he made emit such lovely sounds. He didn’t have to be cruel. But he ruined everything, and he’s so, so stupid. 

Because he still wants him, is the thing. The stupid, ridiculous thing, that goes something like this: 

He’s still so in love with him. 

Fuck. 

Friday is a bitch, Saturday kicks his ass. The weekend is a waste, in short, because all he wants is to see Louis and at the same time, he’s so scared of when he has to. Because he doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself. What Louis will do. How do they talk when everything has been said? How can he ignore how much he feels for him? 

He feels too nauseous to eat because all he can think about is the hurt he’s inflicted, for some reason, and not just the tearing and tugging inside himself for how he was hurt too. For a second it’ll slip his mind and he’ll think he’s fine, open the blinds, have some oatmeal. Considers a walk. Feeling the sun. Then he imagines running into Louis. Freaks out again. Seeing that sad expression Harry put on his face makes his stomach twist at the mere thought, or what if he’s angry with him? Maybe he never left his stairs. 

He stupidly checks, pulls his phone out for like the millionth time. Louis’ bitmoji is safe and sound some fifteen minutes away on the map. He’s probably not even thinking about him. Why should he be? He isn’t. 

Of course he isn’t.

So it’s sad song after sad song, from _I know that I mean nothing to you, babe_ , to _it’s a heartache_. He tries to distract himself best he can but nothing works. All his movies seem to be about love and love sucks, right now, some real shit Hollywood-concept that just takes him one step closer to tears but he might have just cried himself dry already the night before. 

Not even movies he hasn’t watched before work to take his mind off it all, can’t concentrate on them long enough to get the plot; nothing helps to make time pass any faster until it’s time to go back to sleep and hope for a better mood tomorrow. 

See, the giant feeling of desperation behind his ribcage feels like a clenched fist and is quite very distracting, actually. It barely makes sense how much it pulls and claws at him. It’s like, hard to breathe. Like a hand pressing against his heart. So stupid and unnecessary. So sodding achingly real. 

So, how does biology explain that physical pain you feel in your chest when all you want to do is be with someone? 

 

 

 

They still haven’t talked when they run into each other in the break room. 

There’s nothing artful about how dishevelled Louis looks today. And how sad. The all black outfit only amplifies it, not as hot and dangerous anymore as it is like someone just _died_. He’s fidgety and hunched over, and he’s got deep lines under his eyes, which seem glossy, raw, like he’s been-

Nah. No way. Louis doesn’t cry. Nor does he…

Run. Up stairs. To confess feelings that, obviously aren’t real. 

Obviously he doesn’t.

”Harry,” he breathes, shocked in the least. Truly, Harry’s been trying his hardest to avoid him. Which ended up a rather easy task as he figured he’d been sent off to engineer somewhere but, there he is, now. 

Maybe he was avoiding _him_. 

Then he remembers how he told Louis he was quitting the job. Maybe he expected him to already be gone; he wonders just how content he’d be if he never had to see him again. Ugh, compulsive sad thoughts.

”Sorry,” he says, then gestures vaguely in front of himself when Louis sports a puzzled expression. ”Didn’t see you there.”

He’s talking about how he almost ran right into him, but it sounds so cold. Like Louis doesn’t mean anything. But he does. He means so much to him. 

”Oh, I.” Louis’ twisting his fingers, rubbing his thumbs over his knuckles. Harry watches out of the corner of his eye. Please stop. Please, stop. ”I did want to talk to you.”

Harry turns his head away. And he doesn’t bloody know why. 

Because Harry wants to kiss him. It feels like for a moment if they just try hard enough, or maybe if they don’t try at all they could just forget the pain, forget the fighting, and he could just crash into Louis’ chest and cry. Hold him as he holds Harry, because he knows they fit like that, like it’s meant to be that way. And they’d protect each other. From what, though? From the hurt? So really, from each other?

He’s delirious. 

”Oh,” he says, not a question, nor an answer. 

He _needs_ to kiss him. 

”I’m sorry,” Louis says on a breath out, but he’s determined. Harry knows he means it because he can’t look him in the eye. ”And I really- I can’t stop thinking about it.”

About _you_. 

”I want to change,” he continues, steadier, even though Harry can tell his voice is about to break; that _he’s_ about to. It makes him lift his gaze, makes him want to reach out, take the pain away. He wishes he hadn’t. ”It’s hell like this. And now you won’t even speak to me.”

Harry frowns. ”Ask me something worth replying to, then.”

Fuck. What the fuck. 

Louis steps back like he’s been burned. But he doesn’t run. ”Do you hate me?” he asks after a beat of contemplation. 

Harry folds his arms around himself. He might just hate himself more right now. Should he admit this? Probably not. 

”No, I don’t.”

Louis breathes what seems a sigh of relief, but it’s not meant to be heard. But Harry hears everything. He memorizes every detail of him. ”Okay.” Louis nods slowly. ”Me neither.”

Himself or Harry? Who knows. Hopefully it’s both. 

He wonders wildly if he shouldn’t go soft on him. If he should keep snapping, being angry. He could so easily forgive him right now, but what would it give him? More misery and a life lived in shame. 

He really doesn’t want Louis to hate himself, though. There isn’t much to hate. 

Harry suddenly tears his eyes away after he catches himself studying the freckles on his cheek. ”Right,” he mutters, motions behind Louis. ”You gonna let me get going?”

Louis looks scolded. Harry didn’t mean to scold. He didn’t mean a lot of things. ”Course.” 

Louis’ voice is tiny and sweet and he steps aside, lets Harry walk on. But Harry doesn’t want to. God, he wants to stay right there with Louis and tell him that everything is fine. 

Louis seems to slouch less and less by the second as Harry stands with his arms wrapped around himself, eyes burning a hole in the floor, and refuses to walk. Stupid boots. Stupid linoleum. 

”I really don’t hate you,” he mumbles, still with his eyes on the ground. Still brooding. 

Louis almost quirks his lips. Oh god, he almost smiles. ”Alright.”

Harry looks up at him, wrinke between his eyebrows. Then he finds his eyes drifting off. ”And I’m sorry, too.”

He presses his lips together, but the words are already out. Then he walks away. 

And the last thing he sees is Louis’ fond smile. 

It must have showed how much he loves him. 

 

 

 

“Man, have you worn him out already?”

Harry immediately frowns as he sits down opposite Liam. “Huh?”

“Louis”. Okay, god, even the name makes him feel weird right now. Like something you’ve done wrong people keep reminding you about when you’re trying to not think about it. “One second you’re eye-fucking across the room, the next you’re talking about boy trouble. Dumb boy trouble.” He stuffs a fork of rice into his mouth. “Isn’t it time for another up then, man?”

“Seems to be on schedule”, Niall points out, how _helpful_. “It’s so back and forth with you. Liam told me he’s not out, what’s up with that?”

Harry glares long and hard at Liam. Liam just looks around the room unbothered.

Harry sighs. They’re right, is the thing. There’s so much love and hate, up and down, and still he keeps coming back to him. “It’s working out. I mean, no, it’s not really. I mean.” He smears his hands over his face. Stays there in that makeshift darkness. “I think I’ve given up,” he mumbles, and it’s good he can physically hold back the tears then, “because he keeps like, making his mind up about it then changing it again. And again. And I’m so tired.”

Yikes, he's going so soft. More than before, that is. More than the fabric of his silk shirt, dammit. 

It should be making more sense, like how time heals wounds, people work themselves out. But he finds it's only getting harder to explain. 

“Yo, no way.” Liam puts his palms down on the table and leans forward. “He’s been stressed all day. It’s about this?”

Niall just gapes. “This is _serious_.” As if Harry’s feelings for Louis were always just on the surface of it all. As if! “Oh man. Even I saw them dark circles.”

Hard to miss. Harry’s sure he’s got identical ones himself.

“Dude, he told me, like… please ask Harry if he’s leaving. I obviously know you’re not.” Harry feels a pang of remorse because he actually told Louis his plans before his _friends_ , but he was just the first one there, right? Conveniently talked to him so Harry could conveniently share. “He seemed like quite the wreck, to be honest. I think he's really trying.”

Harry's heart punches him in the ribs. That's what you get for being such a crappy person and, oh, god, he knows how Louis is trying, he really is.

"I'd give him another chance," Liam points out with a shrug, and alright, so, listen. He's seen the state Louis is in from an outsider's perspective. Now that his mum isn't here to help him solve problems with cute boys in school, Harry trusts his verdict the most in this. He trusts that when he says he deserves a chance, he means it. "As long as he makes it up to you, whatever it is. Don't want you sad, man." 

"Nah, we don't. That's all it is." Niall suddenly slouches to try and look at Harry. “Are you- are you still alive?”

Harry breathes out heavily. “Yeah.” He shakes his hands out. “Fine, sorry.” 

He loves him, loves him, loves him.

And he can avoid the leaving work question for as long as he pleases. It seems like a good plan to fall back on. Like when people get an education as a safety net in case their dream job doesn’t work out. Not that this is a dream job. Again, it was the best he could come up with in his utter lack of a degree, and it only became really fun because of Louis. 

And now... Ouch. Ouch is a bigass mood. Put that on his tombstone. _Harry Styles. Ouch._

Niall tilts his head to the side. “Do you want to talk about something else?” Harry silently nods. Niall beams. “Okay, so…”

And he starts going on and on about the girl he’s obsessed with or whatever. Harry loves them to death, honestly. He doesn’t want to leave them.

The thought proper stabs him in the heart like a dozen more times that day, like when Liam sends off a paper plane with the words _cheer up bro_ that crashes right into his forehead, or when he witnesses Niall laugh until his face turns red at someone who just said something that totally wasn’t even that funny. He kind of can’t imagine not seeing them everyday. 

But sure, uni will be good for him. Great, actually. A proper education and he’ll feel proper smart and worthy. Just that, he won’t see the people he likes the most on a daily, but.

Sure.

Absolutely. It’ll be great.

 

 

 

He’s brushing his teeth that night when he gets a text. 

_”The sisters are fine wid it”_

He really wasn’t expecting anything else from Louis. Either today or like, maybe ever, if he’s so lucky (unlucky, really, so very unlucky but he can’t really bear think about that). No less that cryptic thing. 

Always. Always cryptic. 

He bites down on his toothbrush with his back teeth and frowns at his phone. He’s just in a big t-shirt and his hair is a mess, couldn’t really bother looking decent when there was no one to look decent for. The evening was spent in his sofa watching Disney movies. He’s a mess. 

Another text rolls in. 

_”Speaking to me mum tonight after her shift .. not scared at all”_

It hits him, then, and his eyes widen as he reads the messages over again. 

_”Is this about coming out???”_

Oh my god. Oh my _god_. 

He jumps up on the counter and continues brushing with his phone ready in one hand, sees Louis type and delete as he excitedly waits. He spits and rinses before padding out into his bedroom again. 

_”I can’t even think of a sarcastic response. Yes !!”_

He calls him instantly. 

Louis sounds to be smiling when he picks up. ”Harry.”

”You utter piece of shit.”

And maybe the smile vanishes. ”Oh. Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

”What took you so long?” Harry demands, but he’s not even angry. He’s kind of happy. Exhilarated. He doesn’t want to bloody go back to uni!

”You know why,” Louis murmurs, and god Harry missed that voice so much. ”It was never you. Well, it _was_ you, always you; _this_ is for you. I’m tired of hurting you- getting poetic here, let’s see... I thought I’d hurt myself in the process, telling them and all, but who gives a shit if I do, as long as I’m not hurting you again. And ehm, so far so good, I’d say. Not dead or dying yet. Me oldest sister cried a little. Pretty sure it was happy.”

Harry shakes his head through the few tears burning his eyes. Maybe they never stopped coming. Except now they’re of happiness, too. ”I didn’t want to pressure you. I know I was but I want you to feel like you’re doing this for yourself.”

”Yeah.” The smile seems to be back, a content little thing. ”Yeah, I do. I am.”

”You won’t have to like, hide half your life, and you’ll feel so much lighter.” He breathes out heavily. It’s like a big weight he didn’t even realise was there has been smothered and gone away. ”I’m proud of you.”

”Proud of me too, for once,” Louis says. ”Sorry for being a shit. I guess I shouldn’t expect you to take me back.”

”You already have been taken back,” Harry says slowly, smiling. ”I was always in love with you. I’d ask you back over right now but I’ve already gone to bed.”

”But I could be in bed with you?”

Harry closes his eyes. ”Shh, I’m sleeping.”

Louis chuckles a little. And god does that feel amazing to hear. ”Mum’s about home. I should call her up. Talk about that boy I’m seeing.”

Harry’s eyes shoot open. ”That’s how you’re telling them?!”

”Yeah,” Louis says proudly. Then quieter, sweeter. ”You said you’re in love with me.”

Harry rolls over, smiles to himself. ”I did.”

”Ditto,” Louis murmurs. Holy fucking shit Harry’s stomach explodes with emotions. ”Right. See you tomorrow?”

”Yeah,” Harry breathes. He looks up at the dark sky through his window. ”Tomorrow. I’ll see you.”

”Bye, angel.”

God oh god why can’t you send virtual hugs through the phone? What kind of pissy century is he living in? ”Bye, boyfriend.”

He hangs up before Louis can react, and he holds his phone to his chest, takes a deep breath. Turns his head into the pillow and squeals. 

Sleeping is difficult when you’re over the moon happy, but it’s so heckin’ worth it. 

 

 

 

The faint dark circles under Louis’ eyes accompanied by the huge shit-eating grin plastered over his face tells the same story. It takes until lunchtime before Harry has time to grab him, which he does quite literally when he catches up to him leaving the room. 

”So?” Harry pushes impatiently. 

Louis grins at him. ”Hey, babe.”

Harry doesn’t let go of his arm. He won’t. ”How’d it go?”

Louis shrugs. It’s weird how he looks even more hot and rugged when he’s slightly dishevelled like this. ”She was fine. Bit shocked I guess… Did you ever pretend to have girlfriends when you was young?”

”Uh, not really, no.”

”Well, that was my ish. Lots of them. Introduced them all to me mum then pretended to like it when we kissed, even remember I tried to flirt with one of their older brothers once. Anyway.” He shakes his head. ”She even thought I was seeing a girl right now, asked me if her name was really Harry.”

Harry’s eyes widen like saucers. ”You’ve introduced me to your mummy.”

”You’ll have to meet her for real. Lovely lady. Got my sharp tongue from her, you know, people say. And she makes a mean sunday roast.”

Harry’s filling to the brim with happiness just by the fact Louis sounds so happy again. He can’t believe he’s gone from being in a closeted half-assed relationship to being introduced to the folks in just a day. ”I, yeah. Yeah, of course.” He’s a bit stunned, actually. Amazed, really. ”Does this mean I can tell my mum about you too?”

Louis seems to consider it, and Harry gets afraid for a second he’s overstepped the line. ”Don’t see why not.” Oh shit. This is really for real. ”Sorry, I- threw me off, I thought you would be pretty pissed with me.”

Harry’s too impatient with wanting to keep planning their upcoming weeks. He gestures at his arm hooked with Louis’. ”Does it look like it?”

Louis’ response is a big softie smile. ”It’s okay to be angry. And I just want to say that I, ehm. I’m sorry. I am.”

He’s a keeper, everyone. ”I’m sorry, too,” Harry murmurs back. ”It’s okay. Over it.”

Louis seems relieved, no less to get to switch the subject. Or the tone, more like. 

He unlinks their arms only to let his hand trail down his wrist until he can thread their fingers together. Oh my. He missed holding hands. Someone call the police Louis just stole his heart. ”You’ve got siblings?”

”A sister,” Harry says, grips his hand tight and kind of can’t believe he’s never thought to mention her before. She used to be his best friend before the big uni move, followed by the London one when he took over her old flat. ”Step dad. No pets.”

”Don’t think I’d be too intimidated by a cat,” Louis reasons, nudging his side. 

Welp, suppose not. Louis’ like a cuddly cute kitten when he’s not rugged and hissing like a stray one, couldn’t compete with anything; he’d just win the whole lot in every category. 

Strange analogy. Let’s not share these ideas aloud. Okay good. 

They walk into the cafeteria together and he spots Liam and Niall at a table. ”And your friends?” he asks, back on topic. Recalls the four boys at the bar back on New Year's. ”What about them? You’re still telling them?”

Louis raises his brows and sighs with pressed together lips. ”You know, that’s the fun part. Saving it for last.”

”Ah.” But Harry has total faith in that it actually will happen this time. He might just need some support through it, is all, which he’s very much willing to. He tugs on his sleeve. ”Do you wanna sit with Liam and Niall?”

Louis grins at him. ”I’ll give it a go.”

Harry steers him over there, doesn’t let go until it’s time to try to maneuver himself into a chair and still try to sit close but with a totally respectable distance. ”Hey,” he greets, placing his pink statement lunchbox on the table top. 

Niall gasps at them. ”It’s the dumb boy!” Harry kicks his shin under the table. ”Ow what the fuck!”

”Classy,” Liam tells Niall. ”Hey, man.”

Louis nods. ”Sup.”

”The man, the myth, the love bird.” Oh my god. Harry’s about to kick him too, but Liam might just be able to crush him under his thumb so maybe that would be a poor choice of actions. ”Did you two work your shit out?”

”I did,” Louis confirms good-naturedly. He bumps his elbow against Harry. ”Or what’s your verdict, sunshine?”

Harry grins coyly. _Sunshine_. ”It’s a 10 from me.”

”Wicked,” Liam rates it, nodding and giving a respecting smile. ”Glad to have you both acting normal again. Don’t want anymore weird excuses if we’re sharing a hotel room again.”

”Yeah, yeah,” Louis chuckles. ”Sorry about that, lad. That’s all on me.”

”I give a 9.5,” Niall says then, coming back from rubbing his shin, ”and a 10 to Harry’s kicks. Those cowboy boots are some hardass motherfuckers.”

Harry kicks him again for good measure. Kinder, though. On the other leg. He still yelps, and Louis still laughs, pushes playfully at his arm like he just did him so proud. 

Harry just beams. 

When they’ve had lunch, and they’re both on their way back, Louis nudges him. ”How about that meet up at mine then?”

Harry smirks. ”You wish, stud.”

Louis furrows his brow. ”Okay. Mean. I was thinking,” and he lowers his voice to a seductive murmur, ”maybe we can have another wholesome dinner conversation about kinks. For old time’s sake.”

”Or,” Harry starts, spins out of his grip and walks backwards in front of him, ”I come over at 5, I cook. And then we find them all out, one by one.”

Louis sucks on his lower lip as his eyes drift down Harry’s body. ”You really want that, this time?”

”I’ve wanted it all along.”

He sucks in a breath. ”Right! Right.” He’s a bit overwhelmed, but still flashes a smile. ”Well, sounds like a plan.”

”It’s a _date_ ,” Harry corrects him, spins back around and walks ahead. It hides the huge smile he can’t contain. ”We’re _dating_.”

He flinches when Louis is suddenly behind him and wrapping his arms around him before he manages to step back into the office. Louis buries his mouth into the crook of his neck and Harry fights the shivers. ”I’m so glad you’re mine.”

He kisses his neck and Harry breathes out a laugh. ”And you’re mine.”

Louis lets him go and walks around him, winks at him over his shoulder. ”All yours, baby. _I’m your bitch_ , eh?”

Harry stares at him. He’s powerless to this infatuation. God fucking dammit. 

 

 

 

_”How does it feel to have me thinking about you ?”_

Harry’s walking the dimly lit streets up to what he hopes is Louis’ apartment. He jumped off the tube on a whim because he wasn’t ever completely sure where he was going - and google maps only helps so much when you lose your connection in the underground - but he thinks he’s onto something when he makes a turn up a narrow street and sees a familiar black BMW parked next to him in a car park. It’s a nice enough car. Maybe he can find out if the passenger seat flips back far enough to fit two people on top of each other at some point. 

He holds his phone in his hand with music on loud in his earphones, because if he’s being completely honest walking alone at night time never stops being incredibly scary, even if it’s only 10 to 5. This becomes an especially big issue when you’re in vinyl pants and trying to conceal your sheer shirt with a suede jacket. Street walker chic. Not really his typical go-to. 

That Declan McKenna album keeps him perfect company though, so so does Louis, when he texts him back. 

_”Like I wanna fuck your pretty mouth and tell you to swallow like it’s your medicine”_

Harry snorts a laugh, which is... probably really bizarre when you’re alone, but. There he goes. _”You ok hun?”_

It’s just kind of funny because he’s the same amount of crazy in love at this point. 

Didn’t Louis say he was good at sexting?

He enters the code he’d texted him earlier on the number pad for the building, pulls the heavy door open and and starts walking up the echoey stairs. The heels on his boots don’t make the matter any better. They rarely do. 

When Louis opens the door for him, he doesn’t even say hi. ”You don’t wanna take your medicine?"

Harry wants to take a good look at his apartment, is what he wants; wants to see every bit that makes up who he is, maybe chains on his walls or a sex dungeon something, what does he know honestly? But he gets stuck staring at what’s right in front of him. 

Louis’ wearing grey joggers and a red t-shirt that scoops low on his collarbones. Ohh, an appetizer. 

”You’re impossible,” Harry mutters, realises Louis’ really stood drinking him in the same way and he falls forward and smothers him in a hug. He cuddles close, takes a secret deep breath of the cologne he’s wearing. Secret. Shh. ”Hi.”

”Hey.” Louis smiles into his shoulder; he can feel it. ”I thought we were foreplaying.”

”We were,” Harry says, straightens up to shrug off his jacket and step inside, ”but you made it weird. Where can I-?”

”Just hang it up, put your boots wherever. You sure you want to cook? We can order takeaway.”

Harry hangs his jacket away on a spare hook among denim and leather and sportswear, and toes off his boots on the mat that’s got the much inviting text _Go Away_ on it. ”Nope. Not getting out of this one so easily.”

Louis smirks and walks ahead of him out of the hall. ”Right then. Tour?”

Harry stops and narrows his eyes like a grumpy toddler. Louis seems to think, the clueless dickhead, then walks back and puts a gentle hand to Harry’s cheek. He leans in and kisses him, first once slowly, then a quick peck goodbye. 

That’s more like it. 

Louis steps back, wets his lips, his eyes big and studying his reaction as Harry swoons a little. He clears his throat. ”Tour?”

Harry smiles big. God he’s so ready for this. ”If you’d be so kind.”

Louis turns with a smile and walks forward casually into the middle of what seems to be the lounge, what with the worn-down blue bean bag, the two-seat sofa and the TV. The TV itself sits on a table with an Xbox underneath, games and DVDs stacked around it like a fort. That’s about it. That’s, like. That’s really it. The walls are still naked and customary white. 

Louis throws his arms out, turns around with pride on his face. ”Ta-daa.”

”Cozy,” Harry hums, taking in the utter lack of curtains. It’s such a bachelor place. He was expecting empty cartons of takeaway or used tea cups, at the least, but he must have tidied. Maybe that’s a compliment. 

”And now…” Louis drops his arms, makes a right through a doorway next to the TV and Harry stares at the queen sized bed ahead of him as he follows. ”My favourite place in the world.”

His bedroom is also simple, stripped of unnecessary decoration. There’s blinds in front of the big window to his right that are drawn, a bedside table next to the bed with a digital clock that shines a red light, a black chest of drawers opposite it. A full length mirror facing the bed. 

Harry’s equally unimpressed by the decor until Louis sits down on the squeaky mattress and clicks on a light, and there’s these round string lights attached above his bed, where the headboard would be if it had one. It illuminates the room in even more red than just the clock managed.

Actually, everything is red and black. 

The anticipation bolts through him. 

”It’s…” Harry bites his lip thoughtfully, gets his stare stuck at the bedside table. Wonders what he keeps in there. ”It’s a good colour.”

”Thanks,” Louis murmurs. He’s still on the bed but Harry stays in the doorway, a little awkward about where he can be, what he can touch. Louis’ joggers have ridden up his ankles and he spies the little triangle tattoo again. 

He kinda wants one too, the tattoo that is. He’s read all about the olden days, early 20th century or so when girls that liked girls would sometimes get a nautical star on their wrist to show it, so it could be hidden by their wrist watches during the day. A symbolic tattoo on the foot is pretty secretive like that too, but makes a statement to the right people if you want them to know. Harry finds him brave to have gotten it done. 

Maybe he should get his own star outline filled in nautical like that. He quite likes that theme. It goes with Louis’ compass one, the rope, the birds…

He walks forward slowly, looks around the room all casual when he does and suddenly stops in front of Louis. His crotch is just in front of his face when he looks down. Louis looks dead ahead, then slowly tilts his head up to meet his eye. What a view. Holy fuck what a view. Look at those cheekbones. 

”Did you want something?” Louis questions, deadpan. 

He does, he does, he does. Harry smirks. ”Did _you?_ ”

”Yeah.” Louis grabs his wrists and Harry has time to think _oh my god oh my god_ but then he’s pulling him down. No but like, he jerks him to the side, forces him down to sit down next to him. Not on top of him. Just lets him stumble onto his clumsy ass on the bed. ”Some music.”

Louis gets up and Harry pushes hair out of his eyes, stares after him and his _damn perfect ass_ as he picks a little speaker out of his bedside drawer and plugs in his phone with the cord. Harry has time to see a black dildo, condoms and lube before he shuts the drawer. 

Of course it’s black, if Harry’s own is hot pink. 

”Can I make requests?” Harry thinks to ask. He’s really confused. Why isn’t anyone naked yet? Why does this always happen? 

”I already have a playlist,” Louis says through a sneer. Right! Of course he does. ”I can queue something up if you ask nicely.”

Now that’s something. That’s going in the right direction. ”I like _Hatefuck_ by Cruel Youth,” he says, really enunciating those words in a dark, confident drawl. Take a hint. Take a fucking hint, Lewis. ”It’s just kind of mean, lyrically, so. Nothing personal. Just so you know.”

It starts playing instantly as Harry finishes his sentence (so maybe he speaks slowly), and he draws a deep breath and watches for Louis’ reaction. Louis sets his phone and speaker down, the music welling out in the room. 

Louis puts his hand to his chin and rests his elbow on an arm he wraps around himself, pretends to be judging the song with narrowed eyes, the sound effects and soon the drums. Then he shrugs and waves it off. ”Sure.”

”Yeah?”

He turns to Harry. ”I’m not going to judge your music taste,” he acknowledges. ”It is what it is.”

”Oh!” Harry looks down at his chest. ”I like that one.”

Louis grins at him. He walks over in similar fashion to how Harry had done, and Harry strictly tries to not stare right at his crotch. (He’s staring right at his crotch.)

”What else do you like?”

There we go. 

The red light is shining right on him, illuminating him and fading out all the rest. That’s such a metaphor. And red is really making everything seem overwhelmingly hot and erotic right now. 

”I like you?” Harry says, more of a question than an answer. He keeps his hands in his lap to not do something when he’s not told to, and he won’t meet his eyes, not when his dick is in front of him and _oh my god just let him adore and cherish it please_. 

Louis huffs a breath. ”Be a bit less specific, could you?”

Harry rolls his eyes. ”I like your tattoos,” he murmurs, tries to really think. He brings his hand up to touch the infamous dagger. ”I like your room. I like being here. In your room.”

Louis snatches his wrist before he has time to touch him and Harry darts his eyes up. ”What else?”

Harry gapes. Right. Louis has control. He would be lying if he said thoughts about these type of scenarios keep him up at night feeling hot in his bed until he has to trail a hand down his body.

Maybe it's not so much of a question why is that strong grip turning him on so much right now.

He mustn’t answer quick enough, because then Louis kneels on the bed and puts his other hand on Harry’s shoulder, brings him down with him when he lies him down with him on top. Harry just follows, dizzy, so dizzy, so drunk on feeling his presence. 

He slots his knee between Harry’s thighs and Harry gasps, tries to not gravitate towards feeling more of the pressure. ”Hm?” Louis prompts gruffly, right next to his ear. 

”Like your body,” Harry murmurs, not even sure what to say. How could he put it into sentences? He’s pretty sure Louis is much better than words. ”You make me feel amazing. I missed it. Miss how you made me feel.”

”What else?” Louis noses at his neck, kisses him, rubs his hand over his chest while the other one keeps him up to hover above Harry’s body. Harry’s jaw hangs slack and his eyes flutter closed as he’s cherished with soft pecks and licks. Then Louis bites down. Harry gasps. ”What. Else.”

”Fuck, love how you know… exactly what to do, to make me feel good.” Harry squirms, mind going crazy with how Louis goes back to loving kisses but his hand goes rougher. He arches his hips off the bed when Louis pinches his nipple through his shirt. ” _God_ , Louis.”

”Yeah, baby?” Louis murmurs, his voice so high and lovely. ”My girl, so good to me.”

Oh god. Harry moans, can’t help it, his mind drowning in its wants and needs of Louis. Wants him to be soft. Needs him to be rough. 

”My good, good girl,” he coos, pinches him again and pushes his knee up higher, makes Harry wince at the same time as he releases a broken moan. ”Feels so good. Tastes so sweet.”

Harry curses, or something, not even sure. He finds his hands bundled in Louis’ shirt on his back, clawing his fingers at him. 

”Am I being too-?”

”No,” Harry interjects immediately, bit breathless. ”Not at all, no. Perfect.”

Louis chuckles against his neck and Harry groans. ”So are you. Perfect.” He slips his hand from his chest down his tummy. ”I think I’m being too nice, actually.”

He cups his cock and Harry flinches. ”Oh.”

”Mhm. And you’re just lying there, pretty and all. But maybe we should get you moving.”

Harry stares up at the ceiling and tries to actually... do anything but move, really, to not grind up against Louis’ hand just placed on top of his semi. It’s been too long. He feels kind of very disoriented. 

Louis nibbles at his earlobe. ”Get up.” 

That would be a command. 

He sits back on his knees and Harry lies there blinking for a second, all heat and pressure suddenly gone, before he starts scrambling up. The bursts of touching and then denial is what always makes him lose his mind. 

Louis watches him intently. ”I want to taste you some more. Alright?”

Harry sits up properly with his cheeks now flushed. ”Alright.”

”Pineapple, huh?”

Harry chuckles briefly. Such an innocent word. ”Pineapple.”

”Great.” Louis sits back against the wall. ”There’s a skirt in the bottom drawer,” he says, nods to the chest of drawers. ”Why don’t you put it on?”

Harry’s eyes widen. Oh. That's. 

What. 

_”What?”_

Louis sneers. ”Maybe I should rephrase that. _Put it on_ , angel.”

Harry blinks, then gets up. Oh god. Oh wow. His legs are a little shaky. 

He opens the drawer and lo and behold, a pink item of clothing sticks out from all the folded black shirts, as his shape casts a colourless shade over it from the red lights behind him. He picks up the skirt and holds it up in front of his hips.

It’s so pretty. And so short. ”When did you get this?”

”Got it for my darling girl,” Louis muses with a special sort of affection to his voice to make sure Harry curls his fingers into the fabric a little tighter. ”Saw it in the shops and thought it would be perfect. There’s nylons too, if you want.”

Harry shaved and moisturized in advance. Or more like, it’s kind of an everyday nightly ritual these days. ”Oh I’ll… be fine.” He looks over his shoulder. ”Don’t peek.”

Louis rolls his eyes before he covers them. ”Still? Really?”

Harry hums a content reply, then wiggles out of those tighter-than-tight vinyl pants and his boxers go with. In case Louis is peeking he gives no audible cues to let him know, but just in case, Harry does a nice bend-and-snap move. Oh yeah, _Legally Blonde_ is like the best movie ever created, just if someone didn’t get the memo. 

He pulls the skirt up over his smooth legs, the elastic band snug on his hips. He looks up into the full-length mirror and bites his lip. It’s cute. It’s very, very cute, which in turn makes it very, weirdly arousing. The bulge in the front almost ruins the visual, his tip reaching over the hem, though the skirt valiantly works to keep it down to some extent. 

”Kay,” he murmurs, spins to look at his bum. Goddamn that’s a nice bum. He should wear skirts more often. ”Ready.”

Louis all but moans his name when he takes his hands from his eyes. ” _Harry_. Get over here, love, let me see.”

Harry turns to him and makes the two steps over to the bed. Louis puts his hands on his hips and feels, strokes up and down. His eyes are kind of at that bulge, though. Harry’s kind of throbbing from the attention. 

”So lovely,” he muses, and Harry beams with pride. Praise goes straight to warm his heart, and- oh, just, other places. ”Will you lean over the bed for me for a second, darling?”

Harry nods shyly and lets Louis get up and stand beside him. He puts his hands on side of the bed with his feet on the ground. ”Like this?”

”Get that pretty ass up for me,” Louis orders, and Harry arches his back. His skirt rides up a bit. ”Yeah, that’s it, darling.”

His hands are on his hips again, but they move down over his hip bones, down his thighs. Then back up, when the skirt follows. Harry gasps when it’s slid up over his butt. 

”Naughty,” Louis exclaims in a whisper, hands roaming the bare skin. ”She’s not wearing knickers.”

”I’m sorry,” Harry mumbles immediately, but he might just spread his legs a little more. Could pretend it’s for balance. It’s not. 

”Maybe I should get you some,” Louis continues, gropes him and slides his thumb along the slit between his cheeks. ”Some proper, lovely lace ones, make you look so pretty.”

Harry hums something unintelligible. Everything is already a bit overwhelming. He knows his cock is leaking. 

”Can I eat you out, my love?” Louis asks him, and that’s when Harry just has to let out a whimper. 

And Louis must take that as a _fuck yes, please_ (because, that would be the actual English translation, yeah). Harry hears him get on his knees behind him, spreads him and Harry clenches his fists in the sheets and _oh my god he just wants to sit on his face_. Maybe that’s rude to ask. Maybe he’d be scolded; maybe that’s exactly what he needs? To be picked apart then plastered together with sweetness and love. 

Maybe it’s better like this, because being on top? Not so much his forté. Gangly limbs, awkward about how to make it feel like he wants it to feel and like, he’s just about ready for Louis to wreck him with that skilled tongue. So that he can wreck him with that skilled cock. Yup, he just thought that. He misses his skilled cock. 

Harry moans when Louis pushes his face forward and honestly, god honest trust, this man must be an expert in the field of eating out. He should have it on his business card, really, because it’s that much the perfect warmth, the wetness, the speed when he alternates between slow, thorough strokes of his tongue that makes Harry’s bones feel like jelly, like he doesn’t even know where or who he is. Then the fast darting, the lapping that gets his heart beating fast like he thinks he’s about to come. 

Then again, a business card is pretty pointless, because Harry would hope he’s the only one getting to experience the luxury. Counting on it, really. Pretty damn certain. He’s being the best girl for his daddy. 

Which in turns makes it all more hot. Louis’ moaning, how he squeezes his cheeks in bursts, the in-and-outs then how he once spanks him so that Harry yelps; it’s all his. And Harry’s all his to take. 

Harry turns his head to the side and _god_ , his pink skirt pushed up and then his bare skin with Louis’ face in the mirror looking so spaced out, but completely blissed out too, spreading him and moving his tongue sharply and determinedly like he’s really trying to make him come from just a rimjob- 

Oh, god, he’s really about to come. 

He’s about to announce it, decides he will once he finds his voice, gone somewhere in the warm liquidy feeling spreading in his body. He gapes for words but none come out. He’s so close. He can’t go back. All that comes out is his constant stream of whimpers. 

What happens instead it, Louis moves his hand around Harry’s hips and finds his throbbing cock, strokes his swollen head once so that Harry has time to emit a broken sob, and then he pulls his face away with a gasp. 

”Babe,” Louis husks, slides his hand down and up his shaft, but then down and off it again, trails his fingertips down his balls and his inner thigh and Harry actually can’t help it when he shivers. ”You really are _dripping_.”

Harry blushes, hums something in reply. He knows he is. He knows it’s always because of what Louis’ doing to him. 

Louis brings a now-wet finger to his entrance and pushes it in. ”So lovely and wet for me. God. I’ve missed that so much, sweetheart.”

Louis should really stop with the cute nicknames unless he wants Harry to tackle him to the ground and force him to marry him on the spot. 

Maybe that’s why he’s keeping him feeling boneless. No jump-attacks. Just incohesive slurs. 

”Missed you too,” Harry murmurs, or maybe it’s all a moan. He can’t help push back when Louis inserts a second finger so easily, and then he’s rocking his body, sloppily helping pump those fingers curling so brilliantly into him. 

”Yeah, yeah, that’s it. Work that little body.” Louis thrusts his fingers quicker, angles them expertly, in a pace to meet Harry’s own rocking of his hips. ”Use me to get off, baby.”

He thinks he might just nearly pass out when Louis suddenly hits his prostate. The sound he emits would be so embarrassing, how broken he sounds. ” _Right there_ ,” he pants, arches his back as the pleasure fills him, head to toe. 

Louis hums, and then he hits it again, and again and again and it’s only getting harder and quicker and _jesus christ_ , Harry thinks he might be drooling all over his sheets. Maybe he’s in a constant state of orgasming; can you come without ejaculating? He’s not sure. If you can, he’s doing it. It’s happening. 

”Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he sobs, still rocking his body to the slick sounds and suddenly registers how Louis’ been sucking a love bite onto his one cheek when he feels him bite into the sore skin. Why does he bite so fucking hard? Why does he at all and why does it feel so _fucking incredible?_ ”God, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

”So come for me,” he hears Louis say, pumping his dick with his other hand now, screwing his hand around the wetness. 

God oh god. ”Yeah, daddy,” Harry whines, high-strung and all, and then he knows he’s done for. 

Game over. 

Louis pulls away. 

Harry collapses. He’s breathing hard, on the verge of coming (the ejaculating kind, no doubt), so bad it’s like he’s standing on the edge of a building, just this pulsating feeling soaring all through him from the adrenaline and that pull in his stomach, so close to the edge. His vision and senses slowly return as all the rest fades away. 

”Harry,” comes Louis’ voice from behind him, hard and stern. 

The usual. 

Harry can’t believe how much it gets to him to be called that, but then again, he totally can. He sort of requires Louis to call him his princess some more, but like preferably every single day, if that’s not too much to ask. 

Louis’ breathing heavily, wipes some wetness from his chin. ”Get on the fucking bed.”

But Harry is just so _exhausted_. High-strung like a guitar too tightly tuned, sure (or a violin or something else delicate, Louis would probably mock), but he’s not even sure he can stand right now without trembling. 

He’s not sure about a lot of things, currently. He knows the music has long since switched from his song suggestion. It’s playing something with similarly slow low-fi drumming, maybe it’s Amy Winehouse, maybe it’s not. But that’s about it. The rest of his brain is pretty fucking fried and all he can feel is _just how badly he needs to come_.

” _Daddy_ ,” Harry sobs, useless and weak. Bad move. But really, the perfect move. 

Louis gets up, no doubt tenting in his joggers and Harry sees it then, the perfect outline of it making his mouth water a little with anticipation. Why get skinny jeans when you’re Louis bloody Tomlinson? ”You want it on the floor then, just bend you over the bed like a whore?”

Is he aware this is _exactly what he wants?_

Harry whimpers again, and Louis scoffs and makes his way over to the bedside table. Impatient. Harry scrambles up the bed and pushes his skirt down over his butt again, his aching cock feeling sore against the suddenly rough fabric. 

Louis has an alarming lack of joggers on when he comes into view in the mirror again (meaning, they’re thrown across the room), and Harry catches a glimpse of The Glorious Thighs before he kneels behind him on the bed and somehow maneuvers his legs on either side of Harry’s calves. 

”Tease,” Louis tuts at Harry’s skirt. He takes himself out of his boxers then and cuts himself off with a little moan as he gets some strokes in. (Which is. Fine. Harry’s _fine_. 

He lubes himself up and pushes at Harry’s skirt again. Harry tingles all over when he feels the slow movement of it running up his skin. Just bent over and- yeah. Yeah, great, perfect. 

”Trying to cover yourself up?” Louis muses on, slips his cockhead against Harry’s slick hole to which they both just have to groan. ”You’re already naughty, baby. No going back.”

Harry’s on all fours but slumps his upper body, sees more of Louis then where he’s stood, his jaw set as he continues teasing. Yep, teasing, so who is he to-? Oh, whatever, he makes his own rules. 

Harry wiggles around a little. ”Good for daddy,” he murmurs. Because, come _on_.

Louis freezes. Then he guides himself inside to push his hips flush against Harry. 

Harry gasps and curls his fingers into the duvet, presses his face into it as Louis sinks all the way in. He stops to let Harry adjust, sweetheart gentleman and all that but. Harry fumbles behind him for his hip. ”Keep going.”

”Oh yeah?” Louis questions, puzzled and breathless, and starts pulling out to slowly thrust back in. ”You’re so tight, love.”

This really means _are you sure you’re fine?_ , which should be super appreciated, but. 

Harry makes a strained little noise, leans back a little into Louis. Louis grabs his hips with both hands. 

”Yeah? That’s good?” He holds onto his skirt as he works up a pace with wet sounds bouncing the walls. ”Love that in your little pussy?”

Harry presses his face into the sheets and whimpers loudly, and Louis chuckles, a hand coming to grip at Harry’s hair as he leans over him. 

”Yeah, yeah, do that. Don’t want the neighbours hearing what a little slut you are. How good daddy’s making you feel.”

His pace grows rapid as he grips hard on his hair, pushing his face down but still pulling on it a bit so that Harry just sobs into the mattress. One sudden particularly hard thrust catches him off guard and his hips collapse, but Louis keeps going, leans over him to bite at his neck as Harry just has to try to arch his back to angle his ass just right. 

He turns his head and gasps for air, bed squeaking loudly beneath them. ”Please-”

Then he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. 

”Please, what?” Louis asks him, clearly nearing the edge himself. ”Fuck, princess. So good. Wet and tight and amazing.”

Harry moans and grinds against the duvet, rough covers brushing his leaking cock with a little hiccupy sound coming from him and he bites down on the duvet. Louis’ stretching him open and tugging on his hair and he’s coming within like two seconds. It hits him like a fucking freight train. 

Louis slows down while he rides through his orgasm, strokes his hair instead of gripping it while he shudders through the aftershocks and thrusts sloppily against the duvet. He sobs as his hips stutter one last time. What a mess. God, what a mess. 

He feels pretty fucked out, loose and sore and _sticky_ , but then Louis goes, ”Watch,” lifts his head up by his hair and makes sure Harry’s looking. Then he puts his arm alongside Harry for support, moves his hand in his hair to the front of his throat to rest his fingers along his jaw but his palm presses against him. He nuzzles his face into his shoulder, and rabbits his thrusts. 

Every snap of his hips is punctuated by a moan from Harry, basically just a whole incoherent string of whiny noises as he watches in the mirror, tries to breathe while being bent in half. The pink skirt bunched around his hips, his flushed face with his raw-bitten lips, the sheen layer of sweat on Louis’ face and his parted pretty lips and the rough stubble scratching his skin. He buries his face in the crook of Harry’s neck and comes with a muffled, shaky, high moan. 

How does he sound so pretty? How does Harry manage to make him sound like that?

He pulls out and rolls over on his back next to Harry as Harry falls down slack, tosses the condom in a bin under his bed and tucks himself back in his boxers. They’re both panting. Harry doesn’t really want to move because there’s currently a hugeass sticky mess underneath his hips that he’s not sure how to apologize for. 

”You alright?” Louis asks between another heavy breath, turns his head towards him. 

The fact he’d actually ask- I mean, who gave him the right—?

Harry _melts_.

He turns his face towards him, half smushed against the bed. He gives a tiny smile. ”Fine.”

”Sick,” Louis decides. Because of course he would. But he smiles back at him and for once Harry feels like he’s actually got through to him. So that, like, behind blue eyes… there’s a wonderful boy who won’t admit just how wonderful he is. 

He will, someday. Someday the hard exterior will have peeled. 

Harry’s stomach grumbles. 

Louis bursts out a laugh, genuinely delighted. ”Hungry?”

Harry blushes and smiles even wider. ”A little.”

”Maybe should have fed you then,” Louis muses with a smirk, and he grips his package through his boxers. Rude! Impossibly rude!

”Mind your manners,” Harry mumbles and goes for poking his nose, ”good sir.”

Louis swats his hand away. ”None of that.” He rocks his body to get back up into sitting position. ”Come on then, hun,” he says, followed by a little dad sigh. Oh yeah, what a dad. Harry lies and admires his rippling back muscles when his shirt rides up his skin as he stretches. ”Let’s see what you can make.”

He gets off the bed but Harry stays put. 

Louis arches an eyebrow at him. 

”I’ve, uh.” Harry stops, wiggles and, yep. The cum has gone cold and is somehow even more gross. ”I’ve got a little situation.”

It dawns on Louis like a lightbulb is turned above his head. ”Oh yeah!” He opens the bedside table drawer and tosses a flanel at Harry’s face. Maybe it’s not meant to go in his face, but. Harry sputters and grabs it. ”Don’t mind me sheets. Time to do some laundry anyway.”

It’s a _cum rag_.

Harry shifts a bit to give him a wide-eyed glare. ”You absolute fucking wanker.”

Louis grins most gleefully. ”I am, that’s why I’ve got it,” he announces unabashedly. Then he turns and walks out of the room. Fuck him and his fantastic body. Is he really going to walk around in just boxers and that t-shirt? Harry’s done for. Absolutely done for. Louis pops his head back in and Harry’s still moody about this, even when he doesn’t get to see those devastatingly tasty thighs. ”You can have the shower in two. And I’ll set up the lounge for dinner.”

He leaves the bedroom and Harry groans. He rolls over on his back and wipes down his stomach, his thighs, folds the flanel over and wipes at the bed to his best ability. It reminds him of their first round, when drying the sheets was a very stressful event because a stain would probably deeply upset the hotel’s cleaning lady. At least these sheets are black. 

He gets off the bed and pulls his skirt down properly, smooths the wrinkles out. Then he’s just like, fuck it. He steps out of it then pulls his shirt over his head, leave them in a pile on the floor and walks over to Louis’ phone left on the bedside table with the music left playing. 

He’s surprised there’s no lock code, and he won’t snoop, absolutely refuses to. That’s really invasive. So he just opens Spotify to change the song, that’s all. And when he notices [a playlist mysteriously entitled _you_](https://open.spotify.com/user/resurrectdead/playlist/7k5QDBalY4YeQVWpMvfDPe?si=F8WTysD_RleUXZ2LpCTuwg) it’s entirely accidental when he opens it and sees the strong start with _Bitch_ , which is a tune Louis clearly wasn’t meant to know he enjoyed and no less take as a recommendation, but then clearly did anyway. 

Furthermore, it’s also accidental when he scrolls and sees how the mood shifts, how it goes into this sad section. Like when it’s got _Redshift_ by Darwin Deez and _I Need You_ by The Beatles, and Harry can only imagine what time they were added around. What happened between him and the person the playlist is about to make him this sad. To make him so deeply affected. 

The tone only shifts at _If You Wanna_ , and flows into something more like... love songs? Some of them. Some of which he’s heard. 

And Harry just. 

Harry just can’t believe how much Louis feels without ever showing it or saying anything about it. God. 

He writes a mental note to listen to all the songs, because, clearly. They hold some answers. Some sort of look into Louis’ mind he swears he’ll manage to coax out, one of these days. He queues up another Cruel Youth song and pads out into the hallway. 

The music is still playing softly in the background as he locates the bathroom and tosses the flanel in the sink, runs some water over it, probably just out of some sort of politeness. He is the guest. And he has no idea how to act. Some friends’ houses would just feel so spotless and bright and perfect when he’d go to visit, he wouldn’t dare touch anything, either as a kid or an adult. Sometimes even his mum’s new house feels like that.

But Louis’ got an overflowing laundry basket and toothpaste stains all over the sink. The shower curtain has come undone from one of its hooks and there’s like a dozen hairspray cans which he’ll assume are all half empty and it’s just hard to find the balance of how much he can really make himself at home here and still treat his home with respect. 

The shower is moist and warm when he steps into it, and he steals some manly man citrus shower gel with the cap still open to try to scrub himself clean with under the hot spray. This is the thing, though. He still feels kinda dirty. Still kinda hot and like he’s walking on pink clouds. 

He draws a love heart in the steam on the mirror when he’s stepped out on the tiles. There’s a faint dick outline one in the other corner. 

When he’s dried himself off with a spare towel he hears Louis still rustling down in the lounge, maybe setting the table. So he continues, proudly naked, into the kitchen. 

He actually finds an apron. It’s black with printed blood stains and the _Dexter_ logo on the chest; who’s surprised? Honestly? This guy. Harry ties it around himself, a little bow like a mistletoe adorning that currently quite rosy bum (nice love bite though). He washes his hands, then starts raiding the fridge. 

When Louis returns he’s already got sadly-not-brown rice boiling and is stood chopping vegetables, hip cocked and hair loose and unruly over his shoulders. 

Louis seems to halt in the doorway, and Harry smirks secretly to himself, because he knows just the visual he’s giving off. Eye candy, was it? Appetizer, was it also? He’s serving looks. Louis starts to saunter up to him slowly then, and would have probably scared him half to death if he hadn’t heard him come in. 

He snakes his arms around his middle and Harry giggles when he presses a kiss to his shoulder. ”You drive me mad,” he murmurs, presses his clothed crotch against Harry’s bare ass. ”Look at you.”

”Was too lazy to get dressed,” Harry lies, because apparently he had the effort to get _un_ dressed. He turns his head to him. ”You started.”

Louis shakes his head fondly. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of his neck. ”You smell like me. Like you’re mine. God. Should just do it here, bend you right over the counter.” His hands slide down his front. ”See if I can make your feet lift off the ground.”

Harry grins as he squirms. He points the knife in his direction, which is kind of very ominous given the apron. ” _After_ dinner.”

Louis lifts his hands and backs off with a smirk. ”Fine, fine.” He sits down at the small table for two. There’s some unopened mail scattered on it that has apparently been used as coasters, given the dark circle stains on them from an ungiven number of tea mugs. ”Eat my veggies, then desert.”

Harry snorts a laugh. Lame. His heart is so full. 

He turns back to his vegetables, pretends to be particularly invested in slicing a carrot. ”Louis,” he says then, regally.

”Yeah babe?”

”Did you know an elephant can climb higher than a lamp post?”

It’s silent for a beat, then Harry turns around dramatically. He almost laughs at Louis’ dumbfounded expression.

He tries hard to contain his glee. ”A lamp post can’t climb.”

There’s another second of silence. Then Louis slams his forehead to the table, like he’s just _so done_ , but Harry sees his bobbing shoulders. Those happy crinkles by his eyes that somehow make him look even more gorgeous. ”Oh my god.”

And Harry can’t help but smile rather proudly at that. Because he thinks he might just make Louis’ heart feel full, too. 

 

 

 

”I do remember it pretty vividly actually, yeah,” Louis recalls, looking at nothing in particular on the ceiling. ”Was probably in year 5 or something. A clueless little Donny shit that loved making people uncomfortable. Not that much has really changed.”

He’s got his arm around Harry’s shoulder and Harry’s lying by his side in the bed, head resting on his bicep with his hand on his chest, splayed over that street number tattoo, or maybe it’s his heart. They’d had a second go of wholesome 69ing after dinner and decided Harry better just stay the night. And he actually didn’t just invite himself in, believe it or not. It was a mutual decision, the moment they realised they didn’t want to get out of bed and get dressed again. 

Better to just stay right there. 

”Guess someone felt for getting their sweet revenge, for my pranks on them and that, can’t even remember who. Strong lad, tackled me to the classroom floor and all the boys stood in a circle laughing at us as he was sitting, I guess straddling me, keeping me on my back on the ground. I loved the attention, I’ll tell you as much; any I could get even when it was for the wrong reason. So I just laughed with them all proud at first. I didn’t get why it was funny.” 

He pauses, searches the memory. It’s one of those painful ones because even though his brow is furrowed, the next moment, he scoffs. 

”Then someone said something like, _you two look like such fucking faggots_ ,” he mimicks in a child’s voice, and it stabs Harry’s heart to even hear the word. ”Maybe we didn’t curse back then, dunno, but. The effect was there. I remember just freezing up, everyone laughing louder. At _me_. For being on the floor with another boy, like… you know. F-words. Puffs.”

”God, Louis…” Harry starts, then doesn’t know what to say. What could he say? He’s been traumatized, and Harry’s made him relive it all again, making him talk publicly about being gay. Dug it all up to the surface, a part which he’s clearly worked so hard to hide under layers of dust and anger and to forget all about. 

”I hated that they thought that, you know? Because I knew it was true, I mean I’d been suspecting it for some months. I never understood it when my mates talked about girls. My first crush was on one of them boys stood laughing at me right at that moment.” Fuck. ”So, well, I guess I decided it couldn’t be true. Had to prove myself, right, not be those words they called me. I worked my ass off to be straight.” 

He laughs again. Harry’s heart physically aches. His fingers curl into a ball on his chest. 

”Dated all the girls in my year, I did,” Louis continues, ”starting that same afternoon. Had a girlfriend for months once, when I got older. Went on for a while you know, all my teen years. Wasted. Half my life spent miserable, scared shitless someone would be able to read it on me, see a cue I like guys if I so much as said a word wrong or even looked at someone for too long. They were all so sick of me, I’m sure, the girls I mean, always chasing a new one so I’d never be out of a relationship and have people suspecting and I felt like shit, because I never felt anything for them other than as friends. Not sure they never felt anything either to be fair. I mean, I hope not. I hope I didn’t- Fuck, that sucks. Fuck that fucking sucks.”

He breathes out heavily, a bit shakily, squeezes Harry’s shoulder. 

”I’ve been a bad person, haven’t I?”

”No! No, you-” Louis turns his head to him with a skeptical look. ”But honestly, no. You did what you like, had to. You were just scared, I… I’d have done the same.”

”Yeah.” He looks up at the ceiling again. ”But you were brave. You are, still. Amazing.”

Harry smiles a little and looks down at his hand, fans his fingers again. He feels Louis’ heart as it beats underneath his palm. It’s crazy he got this far. He’s crazy proud. ”And your friends…?”

”Same ones that stood and laughed in the circle too, actually. All three of ’em. Shitheads. I love them to death, I mean, they got it was a joke and all and just thought it was funny seeing me with a guy. Like, you know. Like being gay is a joke. It was, really, back then. That’s the shit we’d laugh about. I’ve known them practically my whole life. Had them see my shit with all my so-called girlfriends, was on the same footie team too, supported me through my band phase. We’ve been through it all.” He pulls a pained face. ”Which kind of makes it all just a bit worse, doesn’t it?”

”You don’t think they suspect?”

”It’s funny,” which means it’s clearly not, ”I’m pretty sure I’ve acted homophobic, once or twice. More than that. If something looked weird or if an assignment was dumb I’d be the first to call it _gay_. As if that’s an insult. That doesn’t even make sense.” He shifts his hand to play with a lock of Harry’s hair. Harry would probably purr if he wasn’t currently occupied being really sad for Louis. ”If gay’s an insult then fucking homophobia is the only thing that’s gay.”

Harry breathes a laugh. ”Sure. But like, sometimes the homophobic ones are the ones hiding something. That they’re covering it up within themselves. You’re the living example, for one.”

Louis nods contemplatively. ”The neighbour dad in _American Beauty_.”

”Huh?”

He lolls his head to him again. ”It’s a pretty rough movie, love, you wouldn’t like it.”

Harry smiles a little. He probably wouldn’t. He likes the feel-good films, romance ones, with just a little bit of angst, as long as there’s happy endings. That’s nice Louis would know that. 

He’d have gone for comparing it with Ennis in _Brokeback Mountain_. Harry could make a good Jack Twist. He’s good with the mechanical bull at amusement parks, anyway. 

Louis smiles back at him. There’s more softness on his face, and he leans down and leaves a soft peck on Harry’s forehead. ”Thanks for staying.”

”I couldn’t have gotten dressed again if I tried,” Harry responds, scrunching his face up in glee as Louis presses another kiss to his cheek.

He leans back on his elbow, studies him for a beat. ”Just in general,” he murmurs. 

Oh. Oh god. 

Harry’s heart flutters an incredible amount. Of course he’d stay; he wanted this all along. He just wanted Louis all along. He doesn’t have to ever thank him for just being there for him, when Louis’ been there for him too. 

He doesn’t have time to express anything before the moment is passed and Louis looks at the clock. ”Wanna sleep?”

It’s closing in on 11, and Harry’s eyelids are starting to feel really heavy. His body feels sore and achy in the best kind of way, like a really good workout (and what a workout it was), plus that holy-fuck-I’m-so-in-love high. And he really is so in love. ”Work tomorrow,” he supposes. 

He can’t believe he’s going to sleep not just _with_ Louis, but next to him too. Someone should pinch him because surely this can’t be real. Surely he can’t be about to feel Louis drift off to sleep behind him, feel his breaths grow heavy as his body sinks calm and safe into the mattress below them; surely won’t be fighting over who should use the shower first next morning, annoy him by clinging onto him like a koala because he doesn’t want to let him go, not yet. He should be making him breakfast in bed and thank him a billion times. 

Like, not just for the hospitality. For existing, really. On the same planet and in the same time and for making reality of all of Harry’s needs and dreams. 

”Work tomorrow,” Louis echoes as a confirmation. He reaches over Harry gets his phone from the bedside table where the clock still shines, apparently useless apart from being a mood-setter with the lights. He opens the app for alarms. ”It’ll go off at 6, need to leave at about 20 to 7. Do you need more time?”

Harry’s affronted. ”Yes, darling.” Duh. 

Louis sighs. ”Fuck, alright. 10 minutes? 15? How long does a princess take to get ready?”

Harry slaps his arm, scandalized, but he’s really not mad about it. He really isn’t. ”15 to 6 is fine,” he decides. He snuggles closer to Louis’ side. ”Add 5 for morning cuddles.”

Louis spins the time wheel while humming, then leans over Harry again to put it on the bedside table. ”Quickie before work?”

”I can blow you in the shower.”

”I can blow _you_.” He stops on his way back and kisses him, and Harry giggles against his lips. ”Goodnight, angel.”

”Night,” Harry murmurs. He still feels a little too excited to sleep; he tries very hard to relax which, in turn, makes him all but relaxed. But Louis feels warm and safe by his side, and the drowsiness doesn’t feel quite as far away when Louis pulls his arm away from underneath him to click those red lights off above their heads. ”I’m little spoon.”

Louis chuckles. ”Course you are.”

He turns to him again, and wraps his arm around his tummy when Harry’s rolled over on his other side. He grabs his hand by his chest, keeps it there, intertwines their fingers. It’s this amazing big hug from behind and Harry kind of feels his dick against his ass, but that’s. Alright. He’s slowly surpassing the close-to-dying state each time. 

Louis notices too, but makes no effort to change the position. ”Don’t be offended if I have morning wood.”

Harry sighs contently and sinks into the pillow, that warmth coming from behind and embracing him. Louis’ soft breaths on the nape of his neck as they slowly lull him to sleep. 

”I’d take it as a compliment,” he says. 

 

 

 

So maybe Harry’s not busy daydreaming of ways to get Louis to do him anymore. But he’s more than busy thinking about just how well he _does_ him. 

Which is, incredibly well, thanks very much. It gets Harry’s legs feeling wobbly and his breath high in his chest more than once when he gets a little too lost in thought. (He remembers reading some particular bathroom stall graffiti once, that _God is good, but Satan does that thing you like with his tongue_. It seems almost too accurate.)

Now he worries about the whole friend situation too, though; Louis’ four mates, who Harry’s come to notice he texts in a group chat every other hour in his time off. Louis told him right at the start of it all there was never any danger in him coming out, but if he’d lose his friends he’s been close with ever since childhood just because they’re relatable homophobic bros…

That just doesn’t seem right to him. 

He’s not sure if keeping it a secret is an option anymore though. Louis’ come so far and finally seems to not like, absolutely despise himself, or at least that part of himself which is however a pretty big part (especially in comparison with that compact little body of his, d’aw). 

It shows in the way he smiles in a way Harry thinks he picks up on, like a weight is lifted, like he can relax and just be his own authentic self, because everyone in the room knows and no one is treating him with disgust or anger; at least not any differently than to what is normal. And his off-work friends are the only ones left until it’s all out there. They might just end up salty if he told everyone but them. 

Harry looks up from writing an email just in time to see Louis meet his eye for just a second, like he was waiting for his attention. He then excitedly puts a piece of gum fresh from his mouth under Zayn’s desk across the room. Wow. Classic. Harry would be mad but instead he immediately start smiling. 

Because Louis’ always looking for strange ways to impress him, isn’t he?

He comes over to his desk, big grin on his face. Waits for a verdict. 

Harry arches a brow. ”To what do I owe the pleasure?”

”Pleasure’s all mine.” He leans over the desk, proud. ”Did you know there’s currently eight gums placed under Malik’s desk?”

Harry almost laughs. He’s really keeping count too. 

He leans forward, chin in his hand. Louis’ eyes drift down the silver chain of the cross necklace around Harry’s neck, currently disappearing down the v-neck of the black band t-shirt he nicked from Louis’ wardrobe this morning. ”Maybe you should treat Zayn with a little niceness sometimes,” Harry murmurs. 

”Thanks for that input, love, but no.” Louis pinches the pink gum left in his mouth between his finger and his thumb and slides a string of it through his teeth. ”Want some?”

Harry swats the air but smiles still, even though his nose wrinkles. He could kiss Louis and steal it that way if he wanted it. He does not. ”That’s disgusting.”

Louis grins, acutely close as he’s leaning forward towards Harry, steady on one hand. Then he straightens back up. 

”Speaking of disgusting. Liam,” Louis pops the gum back in his mouth and points at a confused Liam, ”we’re off again next week. Thursday. Manchester.”

”Oh.” Liam jots something down. ”Roger that.”

”Do I book the tickets?” Harry asks, ready to start his mission. He can be productive, totally, pink swear. ”Area? Time?”

”Anything before 2 should be fine, the Oxford Road one. Thanks, babe. Can I treat you a ticket too?”

Harry stops and his eyes narrow at him. ”Pardon?”

Louis grins again and shrugs. ”I’ll miss you. How’s a vacation?”

Harry rolls his eyes and waves him off. ”Try harder, stud.” Like honestly? If he wanted to get away from things he wouldn’t go to fucking _Manchester_. Maybe for their anniversary. The infamous hotel. 

Louis hums in thought. ”Maybe Paris in the spring.” Or… that. ”Well, later then. Ciao, Liam.”

Liam waves and Louis wanders off. Harry and Liam share a wide-eyed look across the floor. The fuck. He loves this man. 

And he loves his t-shirt. The chest print of The Kinks is faded, but it just means it’s been worn down with love. Harry will wear him down with love. 

No, wait, scratch that. Keep the threatening tone, (as if he’s even capable of such,) just. He’ll never be worn down. Nope. He wouldn’t dare get tired of making Harry feel like the prettiest princess in the world. And Harry will never be tired of treating him like a gentleman. 

(He spies Liam going over to pick the gum off Zayn’s desk with some tissue paper then, just as Zayn comes back around and he gives a little appreciative smile at this as Liam stands back up, almost hits his head on the desk with how smooth he’s trying to be, grins awkwardly with his ears flaming red like, you know. The gay shit. That’s sort of hilarious to watch unfold.)

A text later in the day, during his nice tea break when he’s sat absorbing weak January sun, doesn’t work to change his opinion on the Louis situation. 

_”Asked cos I just figured you could meet mum”_

Oh. Oh no. He just turned down a sunday roast. 

He looks around the break room for Louis, but they usually differ with about five minutes. Sometimes he swears he’s deliberately hiding to sound more mysterious. Let’s just say it works. 

_”Sorry hun I didn’t realise!”_ he writes him back.  
_”I’d have loved to x”_

_”It’s ok another time ig”_  
_”Talkin to my mates tonight”_  
_”About the fact I love dickkk”_  
_”Just gonna fuckin drop it”_  
_”Can you like send me a cute selfie to show or sumthin”_  
_”They’re all cute you’re always cute soz gimme anything”_

Harry almost bursts out a laugh. Is he okay? Maybe he’s too okay. Harry’s definitely too okay with being called cute. 

He twirls a strand of hair around his finger. It smells like Louis’ shampoo still, from this morning when he rushed because the five minutes for cuddling turned out to be more like fifteen and he didn’t know what to do with himself and just dumped something citrus-scented all over himself. He’s kind of blushing. Fuck. 

_”Yay!!!”_  
_”Haha I’ll snap you later I look rough x”_  
_”You sure you won’t use it for anything else? :)”_

_”Luv you look so fuckin hot today you have no idea giving me a really hard time”_  
_”Get it”_  
_”Hard”_

Harry looks around the room again. He _demands_ to be in his _presence_ right _now_.

 _”And no”_ a last text reads. _”Can’t make any promises”_

So… Wank material. Right. Noted. 

He almost shakes his head at himself. He takes a last big sip. 

_”Favours for favours”_

Harry puts his phone down and goes to put his cup in the dishwasher. He’s not about to sext at work. Things don’t work like that. He should probably calm down. 

When he’s walking back into the office he gets a snapchat from Louis. It’s him outside with a cigarette dangling from those obscenely pretty lips, the sky in the background about as blue as his eyes, flipping the camera the bird. 

Bless. 

He screenshots it without a beat of hesitation. Great contact picture, if nothing else. Totally. Maybe he should show his mum what a great man he’s dating, as she was pretty excited by the phone call just the day before when he’d announced it all ( _”Harry Edward Styles how dare you have kept this a secret from me! I need to meet him right now and give him a proper welcome hug!”_ Which means, welcome to the family. Which means, oh wow.)

He looks around himself before he double taps Louis’ name in the contact list. He has to step around a bit and try to set the picture up before he decides to just be authentic, sends his smiling face back which is actually a direct response to his grumpy selfie, taken in a light that doesn’t look too disgustingly yellow and kind of makes him look a little cute. 

Of course it gets screenshotted. 

Of course he blushes. 

 

 

 

”Nice dog collar.”

Harry looks up with an arched eyebrow. ”It’s a _choker_.”

A black one. With a silver buckle. Thick leather strap; a good old choker. 

”Which clearly sounds a lot less sexual.” Niall props himself on his desk. His glasses are perched on the end of his nose and his sleeves are rolled up those inkless arms. ”I’m bored.”

It’s only the first half of the day still. Surely he’ll be fine. He looks about ready to get down to business anyway, all cultural but prepared to get dirtied up if need be. So surely there must some of such business to be gotten down into. 

Harry still can’t believe he tried to insult his choker. How impeccably rude. 

”Slow day?”

”Nah,” Niall waves him off. ”Just lazy. Need a boost.”

Harry chews his lip, deep in thought. 

”Niall,” he says then, clasps his hands together in front of himself. He almost can’t contain the proud smile forming on his lips in advance. 

Niall narrows his eyes. All the suspiciousness. ”Yes?”

”Knock kno-”

”Nope!” Niall flies off the desk, hands up in defense. ”Occupied! Door’s locked, sorry!”

He bursts off, hands still in the air, absolutely scandalized by the mere attempt of a joke. Harry giggles as he gets up after him, chases him down the room until Niall looks over his shoulder and realises he is in fact being chased. 

Which he realises with all but a shriek. 

He rushes out the room, locks himself in a bathroom and Harry has to really resist the urge to go over there and knock for real. Niall might cry. We’re not gonna have that much fun. 

So he gets back to his seat, appreciative of the leg-stretcher and mood-upper. Breaks are important. Breaks probably happen more often than they should. But, now. Back to business. 

Lunch is spent with Liam and Niall (who’s still ready to karate kick him if he tries another joke), and even though he loves all that’s happening around him, Harry finds himself looking down and checking his phone a lot. A lot being like, every five minutes. At the least. 

Nothing ever pops up, is the thing. No notifications other than the app reminding him to have a cup of water (stay hydrated, kids). He texts his sister, just to get a reply. Maybe his reception could have been dead. It isn’t. It works perfectly fine. 

Louis is sat with his knees pulled to his chest when Harry walks into the locker room that afternoon. 

The initial urge is to run up and kiss him. The secondary one is just: ”How did they take it?”

He’s scared to death of the confirmation they didn’t take it very well at all. 

He kind of had a hunch they wouldn’t.

Louis breathes in, pauses. And then nothing. He releases the long, shaky breath out, even tries to smile. ”Terrific.” But his knuckles are going white where they’re wrapped around his knees. ”Fucking great, to be honest.”

Harry’s heart is already beating in his throat. He wants to comfort. How does he? ”Oh, Lou…”

Louis curls tighter around himself, almost jumps at the sound. Harry has to promptly remind himself how Louis hates being vulnerable. Treating as such is just making matters worse. (But god, he just wants to wrap him in a blanket and feed him chocolate, build a castle fort and watch movies and nap together until his friends grow the hell up.)

He sits down next to him, and doesn’t put an arm around his shoulder. Doesn’t pull him to his chest. Just sits and tries to get him to look up from the spot where he’s staring at the floor. ”Do they just think it’s weird, or-?”

”Pretty much.” He shrugs then, shakes his head at himself. Like he thinks he’s acting stupid. He’s not. ”I think they just need some time. To get used to it? I mean I only just told them- because I couldn’t even tell them yesterday.”

”You didn’t like, show the picture?”

”It didn’t feel, ehm. Suitable.” He fixes his hair by his ears, a common habit. ”We spent the whole evening and they kept asking me, _who’s the bird_ , _what she look like_. And like, I didn’t want to pull that picture out, it felt like they’d be pissed. Didn’t want them pissed at you, you know? To think that- yeah.” So, he protected him. He really did that. ”I just couldn’t face it. Said I’d text them today. So. I did.” 

He stops then, like the rest is self explanatory. It really isn’t but, then again, Harry thinks that maybe he doesn’t want to hear the whole story. It’s probably better like this. 

He does think his friends might just need some time to process it. If Louis’ been with girls his whole life, maybe they’re considering how much of him is real and how much is a lie. This makes sense. Harry accepts this. 

Harry doesn’t accept them hurting him and leaving his side. 

He remembers then how _Stand By Me_ was in the playlist he found. Which means, if he should look for any truth in it, even if times are looking dark right now… Louis will be fine just as long as Harry stands by him. If Louis is that deep, that is, looking for cryptic meanings in songs. (The answer to this is obviously yes.)

He might have a good enough distraction in mind. 

Louis has resorted to grinding his teeth, so Harry puts a hand on his knee to try to bring him back to him. ”Do you want to come to mine?”

Louis attempts a grin, eyes on his hand wrapping around his knee. Harry curls it tigther. ”Trying to seduce me, are we?”

Harry seizes the moment to pull at the o-ring in his choker with a finger of his free hand. ”Course not,” he smirks, sure the sarcasm will come across. 

It does. 

Louis tries very hard to not break all the speed limits on the way back in his car. They all but fly over the speed bumps, which isn’t very graceful when Harry’s presented with a faceful of cock each time, where he’s unabashedly leaning over the gear stick to mouth at the growing bulge in Louis’ jeans. The zipper’s already come undone and Harry’s whiny and needy, but rubbing his fantastic thighs is all the action he gets before Louis’ parking outside his apartment and doing his zipper up again, much to Harry’s dismay. 

”Love,” he laughs breathily, tries to push him off of him, ”we’re here. Just have to make it up the stairs, come on.”

Harry _refuses_. He won’t sit up and move even an inch away from Louis, no way. 

Louis somehow sneaks out underneath him and hops out of the car, and Harry has to realise his defeat and stumble after him, subtly pulling his shirt down over his crotch. Not sure his neighbours would appreciate. Or the surveillance cameras. 

It’s not an exact repetition of last time; rather, Louis has to pull Harry up the stairs (has he been working on his cardio? Damn), and for once Harry gets the lock open on the first try. He thinks he can praise the lack of alcohol for that one, but once he gets Louis inside he feels just as weak, just as drunk on him. 

He pulls the door shut behind himself and kicks his boots off, and Louis is immediately levelling him, framing him with his arms on the door as he leans in to kiss him. Harry responds with a moan and his arms go on his back, pulling him in. Everything in its rightful place. 

But then he feels hands under his thighs, and barely has time to react before Louis’ hoisting him up, a little noise coming from Harry against their parted lips as he wraps his legs around his middle, arms slung over his shoulders to hold on for dear life. 

Louis presses him against the door to gather enough gravity to pull his lips away. He doesn’t seem completely unbothered but oh my _god_ Clark Kent _who?_ ”Bed?”

His bedroom has seen better states. So has Harry, currently pressed to a door with his feet off the floor, but. ”Sofa,” he decides, and Louis grins cheekily in response. 

He carries him off, and Harry’s giggling into his shoulder the whole time as he clings to him like a sodding koala. What is even happening? What is his life, honestly? Why is he complaining at all?

He all but yelps when Louis suddenly drops him into the sofa, despite the soft landing on the cushions he’s handpicked over the months. He wasn’t prepared. It’s rude, is what it is, but he thinks he can kind of forgive him when Louis comes down after him, fits himself on top of him, between his legs, and kisses him again. 

Harry digs the heels of his feet into Louis’ lower back, tries to pull him closer so that the grinding of his hips won’t be met with thin air. It’s not until Louis bites his bottom lip and grinds down himself he succeeds, both their hard members brushing the rough material of their jeans and the moan it creates from Louis is all Harry ever needs, to be blatantly honest. 

”Louis,” he gasps, finds he’s curled one hand in his hair, the other fisting his jumper. God he needs him. God he needs him badly. 

Louis buries his face into the crook of his neck though, grinds his hips some more. Harry realises he’s moaning along to it, growing more high-pitched and breathy the more he ruts against him. 

”Please,” Harry gets out, pulls his hair a little harder, and it snaps Louis out of it enough to get his face back to level him. ”Please, that feels so good- but, uh. Can you just-”

Louis nods quickly, lips wet from where he’s been mouthing at Harry’s neck. He’s quick to start working their buttons and zips then, yanks his jeans down to his knees then helps Harry wiggle his own down his bum, just enough to still be able to keep his legs folded around him. Harry thinks they don’t even have time to play today. Desperate times call for desperate measures. And he’s pretty desperate right about now, so. 

Louis pulling himself out of his boxers and jerking himself off is fine for a second or two as Harry admires with wide eyes, how he bites his lip then releases it, red and plump, and his breath stutters a little. But then Harry can’t help the tiny complaint he lets out. Greedy boy. 

Louis chuckles at him and stops himself, albeit slowly. He takes Harry out of his boxers as well, and he, oh. 

Oh god. 

He spits down into his palm then rubs their dicks together, fits his hand around both of their lengths and runs it up and down. 

Oh _god_.

Louis says something, probably a swear word but it’s just a whisper, meanwhile Harry’s just lying there repeating his name like the word feels amazing on his tongue, about a dozen constellations involving all types of curses that he might just be making up on the spot. 

Because how does the English language explain this? It can’t, that’s how. It can’t explain how much emotion is expanding his chest, how his breath seems to have left his lungs but still he lies panting from how good it feels. 

”Fuck, Harry,” he hears Louis moan, just barely. He’s thrusting his hips forward to fuck into his hand, gathering the precum up from Harry to use as lubricant and Harry just gasps, and moans, and whimpers, one after the other or everything at the same time. ”You’re so beautiful.”

It almost catches him off guard, thinks it might have had him falling over if he’d been standing up. It’s all too well that he’s folded into his sofa then. Folded up with his legs around Louis, his shape encapsulating him, currently experiencing the quite so very fantastic, amazing, spectacular act of frottage for the first time. 

”You too,” Harry replies on a breath out, in between the totally not embarrassing panting. 

It’s only some beats later when Louis’ throwing his head back, and he truly, truly is so beautiful. ”I’m gonna come.”

Harry whines, reaches for his hand, because like, no. No, not yet, please. He puts his hand atop Louis’ but what happens is he ends up jerking them off instead, apparently so well Louis pulls his own hands away, puts them alongside him and thrusts his hips slightly until he’s burrowing his face in Harry’s chest, tugging on his the o-ring of his choker and coming hotly over Harry’s fist to a gorgeous sound he’ll be having wet dreams about, he swears.

He sits back up, and Harry doesn’t hesitate before bringing his hand up to his mouth. Louis almost reaches out to stop him, but Harry just licks a stripe with his tongue over his cum-covered palm. Swallows. Yum. He’s started dizzily licking each finger clean, popping them out of his mouth one by one, when he sees Louis’ eyes have grown dark watching him. Then he’s quickly shuffling down. 

He takes Harry into his mouth, and by god, Harry has to grab onto his sofa and his jaw hangs slack, because Louis is apparently set on giving the best damn blowjob of his life. 

His cheeks hollow - goddamn those gorgeous cheekbones - and he goes all the way down his length, somehow, only a few times but it’s enough because it gets Harry’s orgasm curling in his stomach within seconds. He curls his hand around what he can’t reach, then, too, and licks his head on each pull upwards. 

It’s ridiculous. Outrageous. Harry doesn’t have time to announce it before he’s taking a sharp breath in and shuddering as he comes into his mouth. 

Louis just swallows like it’s nothing. Legendary. Harry despises him. What a fuckhead. ”God, you’re-”

Louis pops off him, really savouring each drop, like, who gave him the right? He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ”I’m, what? Amazing?” he arches a brow and smirks. ”The best you’ve ever had? Thanks, I got the impression.”

Harry’s still outraged. Because Louis is definitely better at blowies than him. That was incredible. He scowls. 

Louis’ smirk only grows wider. ”Aw, honey.” He crawls up next to him, or on top of him, or. Something. Point is he’s very close in the crowded space and Harry doesn’t think he could ever complain about that. ”I know you love me.”

Oh. And that’s. 

Oh. 

Harry can’t even come up with any banter to counter with. Because, it’s true. He knows he does. A little too much, maybe; a little more everyday. Is there a difference between saying you’re in love and saying you love someone? Suddenly it feels like it. 

And now he’s been quiet for too long. And now it’s weird. 

Louis seems to realise, and his eyes widen much like Harry’s own. He seems a little stiff. Not in any good way. ”I didn’t mean to-”

”No, I just-”

”Shit.” Louis sits back up. ”Fuck.”

Harry sits up next to him (underneath him?), awkwardly tucks himself back in his boxers and tries to tug his jeans back up when Louis gets up to do the same. ”Please, it’s not- I don’t want to make you uncomfy. I’m sorry.”

Louis stops fidgeting once all his clothing seems to be in its rightful, arms hanging by his side. ”It’s just. I’ve never-”

”I know.”

”No, you don’t.” He can’t seem to turn around. Maybe that’s for the best. ”I’m sick of letting shit out, I really- I shouldn’t have said that. If you don’t like me like that, that’s fine, it’s really fucking fine but I just. I guess I just really wanted to…”

He doesn’t finish, and Harry doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what the fuck he means. 

”What?” he ends up saying. 

”You know what.” Louis turns to the door without meeting his eye. ”Forget it. I’ll leave. Keep you updated on the whole friend situation, I guess.”

Harry gets up when Louis rounds the sofa and seem determined to actually run away from him again. This time he won’t let him. ”You think I- you think I don’t _like_ you?”

Louis doesn’t answer, apparently busy stepping into his sneakers. What. The fuck. Is he on about. 

”I didn’t say anything because it’s true.” Louis freezes, and Harry has to stop himself from walking further. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Add it to the list then; it’s about 12 volumes long anyway. _Things Harry should have shut the fuck up about_ ”I, uh. I do. That. Feel that. Love.”

Help. 

Louis stares at the ground. Then at the door. He’s silent for another painful few seconds. ”Did you see my playlist?”

”What?”

”It was open.” He angles his head towards him a little. ”In the library tab, the one like, about you. You’re not a very good detective.”

Harry gapes. He’s like a fish on land. Not attractive. Being caught red-handed isn’t a very good look on him either. Louis knows that Harry knows that Louis loves him. ”I’m really sorry, I know I wasn’t meant to see that.”

”I wish we’d stop fighting,” Louis says suddenly. Harry feels as if his mouth is zipped shut. But then Louis just frowns, and Harry wants him to talk more, but he doesn’t.

”Do you want to go?” he asks. 

Louis’ still frozen in the hall and so is Harry, some five steps away. He really doesn’t want him to go. 

Louis shrugs a little. ”Not really.” He looks at him then. He looks- softer. ”Can I stay?”

Harry smiles a little. It just slips out of him. He shrugs too. ”Might as well.”

Louis smiles back, more openly. He takes his shoes back off again and walks over to him. ”And I do love you too.”

He swerves around him with a tiny curse of realisation. 

Harry’s wide eyed. It takes all from him not to start laughing. ”Shouldn’t have said that either?” he says to the shape disappearing behind him. 

”Nope,” Louis announces, then crashes face-first into the sofa. 

Harry _fonds_. ”Hey.”

He’s giggling softly as he walks around the sofa to him. He asks him to scooch over, pokes him in the side even but Louis just makes unintelligible noises and won’t budge. Harry ends up fitting in the space between the backrest and Louis’ legs, his own giraffe limbs folded over him and hanging over the edge. 

”It’s okay to have feelings,” Harry says pedagogically. ”And to say things. It doesn’t make you less hardcore.”

He’s enjoying this too much. Louis grumbles something. 

Harry’s filled up with warmth. 

He slaps his butt, because it’s just right there and he can, you know? It’s a nice butt. Very curvy. ”Wanna watch something on Netflix?”

Louis grumbles again, but it sounds affirmative. Harry turns the TV on. Then he climbs up Louis’ body, tries to fit himself in the tiny space, like a cat fitting into crazy tiny holes. He gives up and climbs over him (which is done very gracefully, as is evident by Louis’ huffing), and once he’s lying alongside him, one leg swung over his body, he can finally get him to look up at him. ”Hi.”

Louis blinks at him. ”Hey.”

He’s still so arrestingly beautiful. 

”I love you,” Harry tells him, and his heart does a weird jump. ”Maybe turn over if you want to see the TV.”

Louis blinks some more, then rolls over on his side, Harry turning over himself and fitting himself in his arms. Louis is possibly the best big spoon in the world. 

He’s started browsing movies when he feels Louis’ breath on him, nosing around his hair. ”Thank you,” he whispers, like a secret. Harry shudders when he presses a kiss to his cheek, so sweet, so gentle. ”Love you too.”

 _Aaand_ Harry.exe has stopped working. He suddenly can’t stop smiling. 

 

 

 

He wakes up with… an incredibly unattractive cramp in his arm. 

There’s also another arm on top of him, which scares him for a second but, ah. Just Louis using him as a table as he lies texting. The usual. 

He blinks his eyes open and it takes him a moment to remember where he is, like waking up in a hotel, or when you slept at a friend’s or something. Try the inlaws. Not that he’s married or anything. Uh, not yet. 

The guest bedroom is bright; the curtains have been left open, white light seeping in from the early morning. The sheets feel rough under his bare skin from being so freshly washed. Their suitcases are dumped in the middle of the floor, unopened, apart from their toothbrushes having been sneaked out after they arrived at the quiet house last night, after Louis had picked him up at the station. 

”You awake?” Louis asks then in his sexy, sexy morning voice. 

Now he definitely is. He should get used to it. He can’t get aroused every time. 

”Morning,” Harry mumbles sleepily, all basically one vowel melting together, turns over and buries his face in his chest. He shuts his eyes again. It’s too early. 

Louis chuckles and pats his hair. ”Aw, love. Come on now. Gotta present you to me mum today.”

Right, that. That whole thing. The reason he’s here, in a villa in Doncaster, to meet the family. The fam bam. The famalam. 

He won’t lie and say he’s not scared shitless. 

But he thinks he might just love them, if he’s honest. He’s eavesdropped on them enough when Louis’ been on the phone with any of his many siblings or mum the past week, and he’s just sort of gathered they’re all exactly like him, just as lovely and bubbly with the perfect edge of an attitude. Also, he’s seen pictures of the baby twins and he just wishes he could bring them home in his suitcase. Adorable. 

He just hopes they all like him too. 

He mumbles something into Louis’ chest, then goes for biting at his nipple because, why not? He can’t be tamed. Louis flinches but bursts out a laugh, slaps a hand over his mouth as Harry looks up, totally innocent. 

”Bad Harry!” he wheezes against his palm, eyes wide but crinkled with a grin. 

Harry smiles his best cherub smile. ”Sorry, daddy,” he murmurs, puppy-eyeing him into submission, which would be when he takes his face into his hands and kisses him. Harry could be purring with how pleased he feels. 

Is it impolite to fit in a quickie to calm his nerves? How rude on a scale? Even giving a blowie would help right now, make his adrenaline go up to then make him warm and proud. He could just sink down under the covers, leave kisses down Louis’ body and take him out of his boxers-

This, of course, is when a tiny child pushes through the door. 

Harry almost falls off the bed in shock. He sits up and pulls the covers up their bare torsos, just to protect the innocent from, nothing, really, if not a half naked stranger in bed with the oldest son. But he softens his posture as soon as he realises who it is. The toddler has big ginger hair and is still rubbing sleep from her eyes, which are big and blue like a certain someone else that Harry knows of. 

Louis speaks first, and Harry thinks heaven’s gates might open when he does. ”Hello, beautiful.”

Oh my god. He sounds adorable. 

The child’s tiny face lights up when she sees her big brother and Harry wants to just _squish her tiny little face_. ”Achoo!”

Harry’s brow furrow with confusion as she starts climbing up the mattress, but he’s smiling big at Louis all the same as he leans forward to give her a little push. ”Achoo?” he mouths at him. 

Louis accepts the girl into his arms as she comes flailing towards him with her thumb in her mouth. ”Used to play a game with them when they was young when I pretended to sneeze. Loved that, for some reason.”

Harry doesn’t need much else of an explanation; he’s busy taking in the tiny human next to him. She’s watching him back with equal fascination in her big eyes. ”Hello,” he says, decides against shaking her hand and waves instead. Did he mention he’s nervous? ”I’m Harry.”

”Hawee,” the girl repeats, deep in wonder. Harry could punch himself in the face it’s so adorable. 

Oh my god Harry needs a baby. Give him a baby or he’ll steal this one. 

”Yes, my sweet,” Louis coos at her, and Harry’s totally not struck with a second of jealousy, nope. ”And what’s your name?”

She pops her thumb out of her mouth. ”Dowis,” she announces confidently. 

Harry’s face just _aches_ with how big he’s smiling. His heart is growing in size like the Grinch on Christmas. ”Hi, Doris,” he replies, leans down a little to try and level her. ”I hope it’s okay I’m borrowing Achoo from you.”

She definitely doesn’t fully understand this, especially not in its full meaning, but she nods anyway. Good. At least he’s got the little sister’s permission. 

And my oh my, is she little. The tiniest little human. She probably could fit into his suitcase but he’d rather be taking her home first class and buying her all the treats and toys she could want. 

”Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Louis grins and bumps his shoulder against Harry. It’s barely much of a movement but Harry almost scowls at him for disturbing the little one’s position even so slightly. 

”No,” Harry whispers back, still studying the child as she curls some of Louis’ hair around her finger. ”Do you want to, uh. Get up?”

”Yeah, let’s see if anyone else is up,” Louis smiles at him. 

What’s exciting is, once this is over with, meaning once Harry’s had a mental breakdown over what to wear, made a fool out of himself greeting Mrs. Tomlinson and tried to act cool in front of a group of teenage girls, he gets to bring Louis home too. He’ll just love watching him squirm and try to act polite, all while his mum will try to shovel biscuits into his mouth or ask about his tattoos or something else embarrassing, because that’s what family’s for. 

Next week he’s meeting Louis’ friends too, at Harry’s favourite pub (with the feminist graffiti and lack of vomit in the toilets), because they did just need a minute to let it sink in, had to interrogate Louis a little if he really made up all his relationships, and if he was keeping other things from them. 

All in all, they just wanted him to be happy. So does Harry. Even though a mean-exterior, daddy-fantasy Louis is in his top three somewhere, a crinkly-eyed smiling one is like his favourite thing ever. 

He shuffles out of bed while Louis covers Doris’ eyes, and Harry stretches, ruffles his hair, then he slumps over his suitcase. ”Oh my god, what do I wear?”

The sound of Louis’ genuine laugh is a definite close second on that list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooo I honestly don't know what happened like you peeps wanted a sequel and I was all okay how do I make it _horrible and sad_ no but I honestly got so carried away, like I thought take my pure was going to be the longest piece of crap I've ever written but here I am now with slightly less emotionally detached baby louis by my bosom. he says hi. he says please look at his softie playlist (it's actually got some songs/bands he likes like I tried my very hardest).
> 
> uhh sooo I don't know about you but this is really a hugeass reflection of my own feelings which are really dumb sometimes, like I'm definitely scared and confused by them more often than I'm not and it's just easier to... shut them off? just be distant instead of risking to hurt anyone? because I definitely have a harry in my life right now and badboy louis is definitely stronger than me with changing for the better and not being ashamed of himself. anyways:))) the lgbt facts are all true in this one trust me to come with correct information on that, and guess who got a triangle tat on their ankle binch? I was reading the first chapter over when I was making a big deal out of it and I was like omg she really did that, and I turned it the right way on meself like ya know _how it is in the background in the end of the miss you music video_ also did you catch my music references? I don't even like mixing their music and personal lives with The Larry Organization but medicine came out as I was writing this and I think I exploded. and he's okay with it!!!!!
> 
> thank you all so much. sorry, mum. sorry, god. ily bye
> 
> edit: zayn was a moody background character louis was trying to get to lighten up by doing annoying pranks on him and I’ll be damned if I don’t end up adding an epilogue when they work their shit out too and he lets liam love him to bits n pieces


End file.
